


Underneath it All

by demonsweat



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Angst, Ass-Kicking, Bromance, Drama, Explicit Language, Family, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Originally Posted on deviantART
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-08
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-12 07:48:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 28,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2101455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demonsweat/pseuds/demonsweat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Halloween, a time for trickery and falsehood; where masks hide truth and appearances are lies. What should be an innocent night of fun sends Mike and Raph into a deadly situation. Cornered, Raphael struggles to get control of the situation ... and more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The TMNT and TMNT universe are copyright Nickelodeon and Viacom Entertainment, based on characters created by Kevin Eastman and Peter Laird. This story is non-profit and free to the fans.
> 
> A/N: This one I first published in late 2011. I'm not a romance gal myself. I don't mind a little bit to compliment a bigger story, but I typically shy away from fluffy love stories. Mutated freaks living in rejection of society, however? Now that's my bread and butter. So I got to thinking: realistically, what would happen if a situation arose where one of these isolated, violent, freakish vigilantes found themselves in a situation with a real, live female? I'm thinking a sort of, _Beauty and the Beast_ thing would entail. So uh ... that's how we got here. Enjoy!
> 
> Awards:  
> 3rd place in 2011 Stealthy Stories comp for Best Raphael Scene  
> 3rd place in 2011 Stealthy Stories comp for Best OC  
> HMs in 2011 Stealthy Stories comp for Best Villain and Best [Happy or Sad] Ending

Leonardo knew from the very start that there was no winning this battle. He’d been up against countless opponents, had looked into the face of defeat too many times. With the Foot however, he’d always come out on top. This was something else entirely, an adversary that knew him, that knew his weaknesses and wouldn’t hesitate to exploit them to the fullest extent.

He stared his opponent down. With one last effort Leo tried to hold steady, willing himself to maintain his position just a little longer. “Don’t think I’m going to give in so easily,” he said.

“You really think you can stop me?”

A sure smile crept up over their leader’s face. “You really think I can’t?”

Michelangelo grinned wide with mischievous intent, telling his brother that he knew exactly how empty that threat was. Of course Leo wouldn’t actually try to keep him from doing this and asking his permission was a formality, but it was the order of things. Leo was in charge and he called the shots, both in battle and out. Besides, Mike knew that if he worked his older brother long enough, he’d get what he wanted. Leo stepped into the kitchen with Mike close behind. Raphael and Donatello were both already there, getting a head start on their post-training chow session. Or one of them was, at least. The other had his attention turned towards his laptop, ignoring the plate at his side. A few seconds later he’d be reminded it was there in the form of several insults, comparisons to figures such as Rain Man, Stephen Hawking (and any other eccentric geniuses Raphael could think of), all culminating in the gripe that if he was going to ask Raph to make him a sandwich, the least he could do was eat the damn thing. 

Donatello’s disregard for bodily necessities aside, Mike kept on his oldest brother as they entered into the kitchen, opting to move towards a new approach. “Hey, but Leo? It’s totally cool. I mean, I know you’re just looking out, and that’s pretty awesome. Whatever you decide, I know it’s for the best. We all do. Right guys?” He was answered by a couple of grunts from around the room. “Seriously, you’re a badass leader, dude. And an awesome brother. And yeah, I’ll say it--the second most handsome--”

“Flattery isn’t going to work,” Leo muttered, cutting him off. 

Michelangelo slumped a little, thinking. Maybe it was time to play hardball. He walked over a few steps and slapped a hand down on Leo’s shoulder. With a sudden, serious expression, he said, “Okay listen, dude. You’re my brother, and I love you. But if you don’t let me go to this show, _I will make your life a living hell.”_ He turned it on, a madman’s grin and a crazed look in his eye, knowing Leo would get the point. And did he ever. How many weeks ahead of items super-glued together, refrigerator liquids tampered with, or body parts doodled on did Leo have? Mike wouldn’t tire easily, he knew that from experience. Leo sighed. 

“Threats aren’t going to work either.” He went to the stove, gathering the tea kettle and running it under the faucet. 

“What about begging?” Mike fell to his knees, clasping his hands and hamming it up as hard as he could. “Pleeeeeese! Please, please, please! Leo I _really_ wanna go! C’mon, I’ll do anything!”

Leonardo rubbed his forehead, feeling suddenly tired. “Look, let’s be serious a second. What you’re asking is a little crazy. Being that close to so many people is bad enough, but what if our enemies catch sight of you? They’ll know immediately who you are, don’t kid yourself.”

“Dude, it’s _Halloween._ That’s the beauty of it! I can dress up--as myself! It doesn’t matter if we look funny under the clothes, people will just think that’s part of the costume. Get it? So I’ll be some dude dressed up as one of the ‘ninja lizard vigilantes,’ like in the papers.” He laughed, apparently pleased with the idea. “It’s a rad costume idea anyways. Obscure, yet edgy … you know the ladies’ll be all over it.” 

“Now I’m sure you’re delusional.” Leo let out another tired sigh. “This club will be dark?” he asked.

“Yup. And I’ll be in my shadow gear too--hood, facemask, everything--just in case. The show is _Ninja Tunes,_ there’s totally gonna be tons of people dressed as ninjas, no doubt. I’ll blend right in!” 

“I still think this is stupidly risky for something so dumb.” 

“Aw c’mon, it’s not dumb! Dude, I _love_ these guys. And word on the street is that Shadow might drop in for a short set himself, which is crazy. He’s not even on that label, he’s just in town shooting a movie or something. I mean, how lucky is that? Dude, _DJ Shadow!”_ Mike exclaimed, as if Leo would have any idea who that was. “If I don’t go, I’m never gonna get the chance to see him again!”

“For cryin’ out loud,” Raph butt in, “would ya just let him go already? At least he’ll stop askin’ about it.”

Their leader shook his head. He couldn’t win, Mike was just too geared up over this. Halloween had always been a fun time for them in the past, one of the few days that they could walk around the surface more incognito than usual. But as time went on and the appeal of trick-or-treating waned, so too did the interest in the holiday altogether. At least, for everyone except Mikey. The youngest turtle had never really been able to let go, insisting each year that they do something fun, even if it was just patrolling the streets and watching people in costume, or vegging out to monster movies until the wee hours and snacking down on store-bought candy. Not quite as exciting as it had been in the short amount of years when they’d actually been able to go door-to-door fully engaged in the holiday. But this year was different. This year there just happened to be a group of musicians--his favorite ones, he kept insisting--playing a Halloween-themed show at a club just off of Canal Street, and Mike couldn’t be talked out of it. 

Leo caved. “Alright, okay.” He sighed yet again, wondering offhand if he’d be able to take a vacation someday. Maybe go upstate, or just to the farmhouse for a few days. He poured his tea slowly, relishing in the aroma. Who was he kidding. How could he relax anywhere, leaving his brothers to their own devices? “You can go. But I don’t think you should go alone. One of us should tag along.” He looked around the room for help.

Tearing his eyes away from his computer, Donatello said, “Ohh no. Count me out. I don’t do loud music. Plus, I have way too much work to do. And on that note, back I go.” He stood, snapping the laptop shut and shoving his chair back with a loud, abrupt _screech._

Once he was out of the room, Leo stared down the remaining recruit. “You know I can’t stand that music,” Leo said to him.

“Well I ain’t in love with it either,” Raph snapped back a little. “You want _me_ to babysit him? What do I get outta this?”

“Ahm … my gratitude?” Leo chuckled. Raphael shot him sour look. 

“C’mon Raph, it’s gonna be a blast! There’s gonna be tons of hot chicks there.” Mike grinned. “And you know they’ll be dressed up in those skimpy little Halloween outfits ...”

In a move he was sure to regret, Raphael agreed. “Alright so ya talked me into it. You still owe me, though.” Grabbing Don’s untouched plate, he handed it off to Mike. “Here. You can start by taking this to the egghead. I swear he’s gonna starve t’death one a these days.”

**\----------------------------------**

Here it comes, Raph thought. He knew that the second Mike had permission to go to this thing, it was going to come to this. It was almost as if he could predict every obnoxious word out of his little brother’s mouth. As the two of them trudged through the sewers, Raph tried to change the subject several times, to no avail.

“C’mon dude, I thought you were with me here. You know you kinda sound like Leo.” 

Raph let out a long, exhausted breath. “It causes me pain to say this, but Leo’s right. You can’t go exposin’ yourself to every girl that smiles at ya.”

Mike busted up laughing. “Expose myself? Hey, I’m no pervert!”

“You know what I mean,” Raph grumbled. He was already annoyed at this and the damn show was still two days away. “This is why I gotta go with ya, ya realize. You need a goddamn babysitter every time you leave the lair.”

“I do not! Jeez, you guys overreact about _every little thing.”_ Mike pushed up the sewer lid, peeking out and listening. Deeming it safe, he slid it over and exited, extending a hand down for his brother. 

“You're not serious?” On his feet, Raphael turned towards Mike in a hushed tone. “Did I not just rescue your ass from the Foot, what--two weeks ago? If that?”

“Aw dude, not this again,” Mike groaned. “Seriously, that was _not_ my fault. I was ambushed! Those guys must’ve been watching April’s place, waiting for me to come out.”

“Oh ya think? Maybe that’s ‘cause they’re _always_ watching her place. Ya idiot,” he muttered. “Shoulda taken the basement out.”

“Yeah, thanks--already got that advice from Leo _and_ Donnie. Hey, some of us like fresh air, sorry.” He hit the fire escape and headed up, Raph at his heels. The night air was chilly, but not unbearable. They were each dressed in loose clothes, hooded sweatshirts and baggy pants, just enough to keep the wind from biting. Once on the roof, Mike pulled one nunchaku, twirling it around absently. “You know,” he said, “this could be the night though. Once I break out my badass ninja moves on the dance floor, everyone’s gonna want a piece of that. Yep,” he said sighing and looking away dreamily, “no chick’s gonna be able to resist me.”

“Yeah.” Raph sat down close by and reached into his pocket, pulling out a flask. After taking a swig, he handed it off to Mike. “That’s gonna go real well until one of ‘em gets a look under your ‘mask.’” 

Mike grimaced at the burning liquid and capped off the container, handing it back. “Dude, fair warning though. Once the ladies are swarming all over me, don’t get all jealous. Hey, maybe I’ll kick you down a few, huh? You can totally be my wingman.”

“Right. ‘Cause that’s exactly what I was hopin’ to get outta this. _Your_ leftovers.” He shuddered at the thought. “So I can see yer off your meds again. I gotta get Donnie to start slippin’ something into your food, I think.” 

Mike brushed him off. “C’mon, it’s not that crazy. Dude, it’s gonna happen, I can feel it.” He grinned eagerly. “Check it out, here’s what I’m thinking. I meet some girl and get her to hang with me, just talk for a while. I’ll tell her I’ve got some kinda secret job, like those dudes in the CIA-–the ones that can’t tell their families what they do. It’s so secret, I can’t even show her my real face, right? So then I just turn on the charm. We’ll meet up again, in secret, maybe for a few days or weeks--then bam!” He slapped his fist. “I reveal: _the truth._ By that point she’ll be so in love with me, she won’t care what I look like. See? That could totally work! Or scrap the CIA story and just tell her I’m a _for real_ vigilante. Some chicks are into that, you know? They like dudes that are a little bit dangerous.”

Raphael rolled his eyes. “You definitely need your head examined. That’s it, I’m talkin’ to Donnie.” Jokes aside, Raph hated this. He hated the whole subject. He knew what he was and what that meant years ago, he was over it. They’d all discussed it at some point or another, each with varying degrees of acceptance. After all, their father had never been with a woman and he’d led a very full and rewarding life. That desire was strong now but it would lessen over time, he’d told them. They just needed to focus more on their training and put the idea out of their heads.

Mike popped up onto his hands, spinning around and finishing the move off by rolling onto his shell. A second later he was back on his hands again, swinging his legs around and around, looking a little like a gymnast practicing on a pommel horse. He followed that up with a series of flips and turns, all the while keeping to the beat in his head, practicing various moves he’d picked up from watching the b-boy troupes that performed across the city. Eventually, Mike’s body came to a halt and he froze, laid out on the ground and looking at his brother. With a cheesy smile, he said, “C’mon, be honest--if you were a chick, you’d be all over this.”

“Mikey just let it go already,” Raph said, losing his patience for the conversation. “It ain’t gonna happen for us, and that’s the way it is.” He took another pull from the flask.

“Well it won’t with that kinda attitude.” Mike chuckled. He stood, joining Raph at the rooftop’s edge. Dropping down next to him, he asked, “What’s with the whole doom-and-gloom act? I mean yeah, we might have to work harder at it than most dudes, but it’s not impossible. Like I said, some girls are into guys that are different, you know? We’re like, something that’s _mysterious_ and _exciting.”_

Raph scrunched up his snout. “Who told ya that?” 

He shrugged. “April.” 

“Yeah, well April’s kind of a special case.” Raph looked off a second, thinking it over. “’Sides, even she’s hooked up with another human. That should tell ya right there. She knows us better’n anybody, and still, even she can’t stand the thought.”

“Well …” Mike frowned, somewhat at a loss for words. “That’s not true,” he finished. “I mean, just ‘cause she never hooked up with any of us doesn’t mean she’s like, disgusted by the idea.”

“Says you.”

Mike looked at his brother suspiciously. What was that supposed to mean? April and Casey had gotten together a couple of years after they’d all met but it had been obvious that there was an attraction there for some time. Plus, Raph and Casey were friends. When Raph had met the nutcase in the hockey mask, he’d seen a lot of himself in the human; they both spent their nights cleaning up the streets, they both struggled to come to grips with their rage. Even today, the two of them were as close as anything, often patrolling together whenever the others were off doing something else. They were similar in every way, save for the obvious. Was that what Raph was on about? 

“Are you trying to tell me you’re jealous of Casey, or something?”

Raph made a disgusted noise. “Look, just drop it.”

“Dude, he and April are happy together. I mean, you don’t wanna get in between that, do you?”

“Mikey, for god’s sake.” He buried his face in his hand. “Look, it ain’t what you're thinkin’. I’m not carryin’ a torch or nothin’ here. I just always thought …” he stalled, unsure of how to put it.

“What?”

“Well …” Again he stopped, stumbling. “Well I just figured that maybe things woulda been different, okay? If we didn’t look this way.”

They sat in silence for a few seconds. When they’d first encountered April the idea had seemed like a possibility, albeit a slim one. Wishful thinking on the part of a bunch of fifteen year olds. And that was the real reason wasn’t it? She’d been an adult when they’d met and the age difference meant much more back then. Not to mention that they were all brothers and that would certainly complicate things. And besides, Mike thought, things just didn’t work out that way. To Mike, none of that mattered. April loved them like family and surely if anyone could see past their obvious differences, it was her.

Finally, Mike said, “I don’t think that’s true. April’s cool, she wouldn’t care.”

Raph shook his head. “People talk a big game, about how looks don’t matter, how what matters is on the inside and all that. It’s crap. Ya can’t fight it, it’s instinct. Everybody knows it’s wrong to judge a person on their looks, but they all do it anyways.”

Mike looked down. “Not everybody’s like that, Raph.”

“Yeah well most people are. And it ain’t like we get the pick a the litter.” 

“Maybe we’ll get lucky,” Mike said, perking up a little. “Hey, people are into some freaky stuff. You should ask Donnie to show you some of those sites he visits online.” He laughed a little. “If some chicks are down with half the stuff I saw on there, we’re gold.”

“Riiight.” He rolled his eyes. “Like the geek would know. I really doubt most women are getting their rocks off to _Reptiles Quarterly._ And let’s not forget what we do and where we live. What, you gonna bring some girl back to your sewer? Forget it, Mikey. It ain’t gonna happen, you're better off accepting it now.”

Mike sighed, fed up with what Donnie liked to call "yet another fatalistic diatribe from the turtle in perpetual, existential crisis." “Well, that’s uplifting. That’s why I love hanging out with you, dude--you really know how to keep morale high around here.” Frustrated, the younger turtle shoved himself off of the cement outcrop and stood up.

“Well excuse me for livin’ in the real world--” 

“You know what?” Mike turned towards him, cutting him off. “I am _sick to death_ of your whole, ‘this the real world, the real world sucks,’ crap. You think you’re so smart, like you got this figured out when the rest of us don’t. Dude, I _know_ all this. I _know_ chances are pretty small that I’m gonna find somebody, but you know what? _I don’t care. I’m_ gonna keep trying.” He started to walk away.

“Where ya goin’? Ain’t we gonna run?”

“Forget it, I’m going home to play video games. You know,” he said, slipping into a tone heavy with sarcasm, “to escape this _awful reality_ for a little while.” 

Raphael frowned, watching him go. Well screw him, then. But maybe he’d been a little too harsh. It wasn’t an easy thing to come to grips with and it was especially difficult watching his usually optimistic sibling continue to deny the reality of it. Mike would come around eventually. Just like the rest of them, he’d have to accept that they would always be freaks in the eyes of the general population. 

As Raphael looked out over the city, listening to the sounds of its inhabitants, his thoughts wandered to them. They’d gotten by all these years on the idea that it was too fantastic for such beings to exist; even the papers reported them as "vigilantes in strange costumes." Thugs that were lucky enough to catch a glimpse and tell about it insisted that they were dressed as any number of things, from frogs to aliens (and in one case, demons). It was a good thing, Leo would say. This blind denial of their existence made it easier for them to stay under the radar. Don would go on about how it’s a natural thing, a part of basic human psychology to blindly refuse belief in anything that didn’t fit into the realm of known logic, but Raph didn’t really care one way or the other. He knew Leo and Don were sugarcoating the obvious. They’d never be accepted by this world, by these people. They were freaks of nature and it didn’t matter how many lives they saved or how much good they did, the humans would never see them as anything but. As he sat there listening to them on the streets below, he tried not to think about what it would be like to be one of them. To live and work and love … to be normal.

**\----------------------------------**

At the front entrance to their lair, the two brothers faced off in their usual way, the older looking over the younger with a scrutinizing eye. “Stay close to him. I don’t want a repeat of what happened a couple of weeks ago.” Leo leaned in, adding, _“And stay sharp.”_

Raphael smirked. “Don’t worry, I’m bringing the good stuff.” He pulled up his shirt, revealing a small flask in his belt.

Leo turned away, shaking his head. “Why do I know I’m going to regret this,” he muttered under his breath.

“Ah quit’cher worrin’, Fearless.” He clapped his brother on the back. “With me there, ya got nothin’ to worry about.”

Moments later saw Mike and Raph heading out, hitting the streets on this most devilish of nights, the moon high and full and casting its light on the hordes of costumed kids who had now taken over the streets. The two brothers were dressed as promised, head to toe in black ninja gear complete with gloves, tabi-style boots and hoods covering their heads. Each wore a swatch of black, elastic fabric that pulled up around the mouth and snout, so that if anyone were close enough, they wouldn’t notice any odd details about the face (although the shape wasn’t right, but on a night like tonight, no one would think twice about it). Only the space around their eyes was uncovered but each had foregone his mask as well so as not to bring attention to that area. For the most part, they looked good enough to pass as any other costumed reveler. However, Leo had been right. If they weren’t careful, their enemies, knowing what details to look for, might be able to pick them out.

They headed towards the club, taking the streets for a change and enjoying the ability to do so. Even though Halloween didn’t have quite the same mystique as it once had, it was still fun to walk amongst people as one of them, and to pretend they were just a part of the crowd. They talked along the way, Mike chattering excitedly about the various performers they were about to see and Raph doing his best to not seem completely uninterested. As much as Mike had annoyed the hell out of him over this, he had to admit that his brother’s utter joy at this outing was a little infectious. Besides, Raph didn’t hate being around humans. Deep down, he enjoyed things like this. It was something he and Mike actually had in common, a shared curiosity about the people that inhabited the world above them. Raph’s approach however, was along the lines of stay-hidden-and-observe, whereas his little brother was more of a hands-on kind of guy. A little too hands on, in the opinion of the others; it was generally considered that Mike’s shenanigans were one of the reasons stories of their existence made it to the papers in the first place. And just one more reason their leader had tried to talk Mike out of tonight’s festivities.

Several blocks from the club they passed by a group of a half dozen or so kids, young teenagers, probably looking at their last or next to last outings for candy. Their outfits revolved more around the macabre, bloody and torn, emulating certain undead creature films that had suddenly risen in popularity over the last few years. 

“Ooh, nice costumes,” Mike said to them. “Hey, I’ll show you something really cool for a candy bar!” 

The kids slowed to a stop. “Yeah? What?” One of them said, a little suspicious.

“Okay, check it out.” Mike backed up, getting some room. With a burst of speed he ran at the wall of the nearest building, running up the brick a few steps and pushing off into a backflip. Landing perfectly, he took a little bow. “Ta-da!”

The kids looked at each other. The one who spoke before piped up again. “My cousin does parkour, he can do that too.”

“Huh. Tough crowd,” Mike said to his brother. “Okay, how ‘bout this?” 

Raph knew what was coming. Mike was all hopped up on adrenaline to begin with; add in his natural flair for showboating and it was a dangerous combination. He sensed his brother’s attack just in time, shifting out of the way and grabbing Mike’s leg at the last second. With a hard twist, he sent Mike off of his feet and spiraling towards the ground. The younger turtle landed hard on his shell with an _oomph,_ causing a bit of laughter to erupt amongst their onlookers. Not to be outdone, Michelangelo rolled, popping back onto his feet in an instant and tossing a punch at Raph instead. He missed, but countered Raph’s next attack, knocking him back hard enough that a few of the kids had to step back themselves. They traded back and forth like that for a few minutes, using just light kicks and punches, sparring and laughing all the way. By the end, a few more people had stopped to watch, forming a small crowd around them. Even Raph started getting into it; with an audience, it was hard not to show off a little. Finally, Raph managed to get Mike into a hold and threw him, tossing him into a giant pile of trash bags on the side of the street and effectively ending the match. The people around all laughed, a few clapping. 

Taking his brother’s hand up, Mike turned back towards the kids. “So c’mon, hook me up!” He held his palms out, ready to catch.

The kid who’d spoken before reached into his sack, obliging him. “Alright, that was pretty cool.” Before moving on, he asked, “Hey, what are you guys supposed to be, anyways?”

“Ninjas,” Raph said matter-of-factly.

“Mutant ninjas,” Mike corrected him.

“That’s lame,” the kid grinned wide, laughing a little. He headed off down the street, joining his friends.

“What? Aw …” Mike turned away, ducking down the nearest alley, opting to take the back route the rest of the way. Pulling down his face mask, he shoved the candy bar into his mouth. “Pff, kids. What do they know,” he said, between bites. A second later, he grimaced, looking at what he was eating. “Ugh! Little punk gave me an _Almond Joy?_ Seriously, it should be illegal to put coconut in anything.”

He’d scarcely finished chewing when the figures dropped down around them. “Kame freaks,” one of the Foot soldiers said to them, “you reveal yourselves so readily. Do not think you can hide beneath such a transparent disguise.”

Right away Raph and Mike turned, putting their backs to one another and pulling their weapons. Mike said, “For dudes that run around dressed in pajamas every day of the year, you guys sure are judgmental.”

They didn’t give him any more time for jokes. There were only six of them, enough to put up a good fight, but neither one of the brothers was worried. As they put the ninjas down one by one, Raph kept looking around, expecting more. But it seemed luck was on their side this time. Raph felt good, he was in good form tonight. He laid out two with a single attack, wrenching his sais from their carcasses a second later. He tripped up a third, assisting Mike, who followed up by bashing his twin nunchaku into the unfortunate soldier’s skull a second later. Following through, Mike swung one of his weapons behind in a long, sweeping move, nailing another who’d been coming up on his rear. The soldier went down hard and another hit from the nunchaku-wielding turtle made sure he stayed there.

It was too easy. Four of the soldiers went down in less than a minute. With their brethren lying dead and bleeding in the dim alleyway, the last two made a break for it, attempting to retreat up a fire escape nearby.

“Aw, ain’t that cute,” Raph said to his brother. “These guys think they’re gonna get away.”

“Ha, yeah right!” Mike stood, dusting himself off. Motioning towards the wrought iron ladder, he added, “After you.”

“Why thank you,” Raph said with a grin, leaping up after the ninjas with Mike right behind.

At the top, Raph sprinted after them. They never had a chance. One turned at the last second but got a sai buried in his gut; the other Raph tackled to the ground from behind and wrestled with while Mike finished him off. A few moments later the last two soldiers lay dead on the rooftop.

“Huh.” Raph looked around. “Kinda expected more up here. Thought those guys might be leadin’ us into a trap or somethin’.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Gotta say I’m almost disappointed, I was just getting warmed up.”

They didn’t spend time debating it. No doubt the Foot had caught sight of their antics on the street. Raph and Mike’s moves gave them away in an instant, for there was no mistaking the brothers’ fighting style. It wasn’t rare to see a small patrol out like this, nor was it totally unexpected to be jumped by them. So why was Raph getting an uneasy feeling? 

He shook it off. It was probably nothing, just Leo’s nagging getting to him, maybe. He said to Mike, “We better make tracks before any more of ‘em show.” As they took off, hurrying along the rooftops now, Raph kept his eyes sharp, scanning the surrounding areas for more. He didn’t pick up on any as they went but something still didn’t seem right. You could say what you wanted about the Foot but they usually put up a decent fight. The majority of them were quite skilled, though tonight’s encounter had shown otherwise. These guys had been amateurs, newer recruits, Raph guessed. It was another reason why he kept expecting another wave; usually the novices traveled with a group of trainers close by. 

Not tonight, it seemed. As they neared the club, Raph let it go. Just a fluke, a chance encounter--it happened sometimes. He never did pick up on the figures tailing them, following along and watching as he and Mike entered the large building with the loud music blaring from inside.

**\----------------------------------**

Raphael leaned against the railing of the balcony, keeping to himself. The music actually wasn’t too bad, he thought. Not really the sort of tunes he was into, more along the hip-hop and electronic sound of things, but it wasn’t half as annoying as he thought it would be. Plus, Mike had been right about one thing--there was plenty of eye candy. Up here, he was in a good position to watch the dance floor below and there was no shortage of beautiful women for his viewing pleasure. There were cats and devil-girls, multiple nurses and one very voluptuous go-go dancer losing herself to the music, unaware or uncaring of who watched (and Raphael certainly wasn’t the only one). On the stage a pale guy sporting a goatee scratched records with a massive set of headphones around his neck, his head dipped to one side and listening in. Raph didn’t know or care much about who he was, but the crowd was eating it up. The club itself was of moderate size; he guessed there was several hundred in attendance. And Mike had been right about something else; at least half of the people here were dressed as ninjas. Go figure. Still, it was great place to blend in, that was for sure.

He reached down, unscrewing the cap on his flask and tipped it upwards, taking a long drink. He didn’t even notice the woman approach until she was on him.

“Nice costume.”

Raph blinked. She was stunning, dressed like she just stepped out of a 1970’s Blaxploitation film. She wore a full-length, light yellow pantsuit complete with bell bottoms, the kind that came up and split between her breasts with an open back, the fabric held in place by a loop around the nape of her long, delicate neck. Her afro had to be three inches deep but not natural, a wig if he wasn’t mistaken, though convincing enough to fool most people. Glancing down, he guessed that they were roughly the same height, when she wasn’t wearing platform heels. Startled, he quickly pulled the fabric over his mouth again and dipped his chin, letting the shadows take his features.

She toyed with one of the oversized, gold hoops that dangled from her ears. “You a fan?” she asked, nodding towards the stage. 

“What?”

“I said, _are–you–a–fan?”_ she repeated, a little louder over the music. “Do you like this guy?” He shook his head, too rattled to give a proper answer. “Yeah, me neither. His first album was good, but after that is was all downhill.” She changed directions. “So what are you supposed to be?”

“Ninja,” he said. He looked around a little. Why was this lady talking to him?

“Yeah? You and everybody else here.” She peered into his hood suspiciously. “So what’s with the face? And the hunchback?”

“Eh … _mutant_ ninja,” he corrected himself. “It was my stupid brother’s idea.” He nodded off towards the dance floor, where Mikey was. It was no wonder why the goofball had wanted to come so badly; he’d spent so many years perfecting his moves it looked like it was actually paying off. For the second time this evening, a small crowd was gathered around the younger turtle, watching as he performed a mix of breakdancing and martial arts. Raph could only imagine how happy the little attention whore must be right about now.

“Oh, is that him? He’s pretty good!”

“I guess.” Raph shrugged. “If you're into that sorta thing.”

She sipped her drink, a dark cola mixed with something, he guessed. “You guys are supposed to be one of those weird vigilantes right? The ones I read about in the Daily? There’s a few of you walking around here. And one of the other guys, the one who wears the hockey mask. I bumped into him on the dance floor.”

“That so?” Raph said, genuinely interested now. Maybe Mikey was right, they did have some small amount of celebrity status, at least where the gossip rags were concerned. He had actually seen a couple of the guys she was talking about around the club, kids dressed in ninja gear with their faces painted green. Not even close to the real thing, but hey--it was a little flattering, he had to admit it.

“Yeah. So what is it those guys dress up as? Lizards or something?”

“Turtles,” he said, perhaps a little too forcefully. She didn’t seem to notice.

“Oh right.” She giggled. “I’m Aliyah, by the way.” She extended one hand to him.

He squeezed her hand quickly and tried to pull away but she held him, looking his glove over. “Wow, you guys really pay attention to detail! Three fingered mutants, huh? I love it!”

“Uh, thanks.” He ripped his hand from her, looking away and hoping she’d get the message. This was the last thing he needed, was some frisky club-goer to blow his cover. Maybe coming here was a bad idea after all. Why in the world did he ever listen to Mikey in the first place? 

“So, you look like you could use a drink. Can I get you something?”

He froze. Okay, so she wasn’t getting the message. He should say no, but be polite about it, thank her …

Holding up the flask, he stuttered, “Ah--I’m covered. Thanks.” He looked down at the thing in his hand, swishing it a little. Half-empty. And he was feeling the effects; it was probably time to slow down a little. 

“Oh yeah? So whatcha drinking?” She smiled sweetly at him, still playing with her earring. Nope, definitely not getting the message. Raph couldn’t help being suspicious a little. Why would this woman pick him out? There had to be dozens of single guys around. She leaned against the rail casually, her hips curving with the cut of her dress, her big, brown eyes looking at him a little too closely. 

Raphael swallowed. “Whiskey,” he answered. “S’nothin’ special, just cheap stuff.” He thought he sounded okay, but inside he was in a panic. What was he doing? He had to get away from this woman, excuse himself. But something held him back. Maybe it was the fault of the alcohol, maybe not--but he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. He opened his mouth to say something but she cut him off.

“So … you got a girlfriend?” She moved in close, laying a hand on his arm. He answered no, shaking his head slowly and in a daze. “Well, then. Lucky me.” She smiled at him through slitted eyes, cat-like and confident, moving closer to him like a woman with little inhibition. Her chest heaved with each breath, her every move like water, calm, flowing and graceful. “You know,” she said, stroking his bicep, “when I saw you, I knew what you were. I have a confession to make, I have this _thing_ for vigilantes.”

Raph swallowed again. Why was his mouth so dry all of the sudden? “Oh yeah?” he asked. 

“Mm-hmm.” She smiled at him, showing her teeth. “I _love_ hearing stories about them. My girlfriends think I’m crazy.” She giggled. “But what can I say? I just love a hero. And I can tell you’re really into the part.” She squeezed his arm tighter, feeling the muscle there. _“Very_ into it.” 

“Well,” Raph said almost casually, “I guess you could say that.” 

He saw something flash by, a quick expression that he couldn’t read. It was as though her demeanor dropped away for a split second, showing him something more; something that seemed more real, in a sense. Whatever it was didn’t last, leaving him to wonder if he'd imagined it. Right away she was back to fawning over him. “You know, I’ve always really admired what those guys do. It must take a lotta guts to put their lives on the line for people like that. Do you wanna know a secret?” She looked away for a second, biting her lip lightly. “I’ve always had this … _fantasy._ I’d be in trouble somehow and a handsome hero would come to save me.” She pressed herself a little closer to him. “You know anybody like that?”

“Maybe I do,” he played along. He wasn’t sure how, or who was making these words come out of his mouth but some part of his brain was still managing to function along here. He couldn’t believe this was really happening. Even though this woman had no idea who he was (and surely she didn’t think he was _really_ a vigilante--the way she was talking, this seemed like some bizarre game to her), she was practically throwing herself at him. Some rational part of his mind kept trying to tell him that this was wrong, unnatural, that no one came on this strong without some motive. She was probably mental. But maybe it was as she said, her motive was finding a “hero” to take home with her. Not the most normal thing exactly, but it wouldn’t be the strangest thing he’d ever seen. So she was a little nutty for guys who dressed up in costume and fought crime, that didn’t mean she was crazy. Something Mikey had said a few days ago, something about people being into some freaky stuff came back to him right then. 

She stoked his arm lightly, leaning in close to his ear. “Let’s go back to my place. I’m close, just a couple of blocks, we can walk there.”

No. No, this was not an option. What was happening was amazing--and suspicious--but mostly amazing. And had never happened to him before. And never would again, probably. But he could not follow up on this, it was insane to think that this was a possibility! He needed an out. “Ah, my brother ... is here. I shouldn’t just leave him …” He gestured towards the dance floor where Mike was waiting his turn, standing in a circle of people who were currently watching a man dressed as a shogun pop-and-lock to the music.

She turned to face him full-on then. Placing her hands lightly on his shoulders, she began to sway a little, gyrating her hips to the beat. Raphael’s hands came up on their own, resting on the small of her back. Goddammit he was so nervous. Did she notice? He raised his hands slowly along her sides and back down again, feeling and caressing her flesh. It was both terrifying and incredible. He let out a shaky breath. 

He could not. Freaking believe. This was happening.

“You know,” she said with a look of mischief, “I don’t mind if your brother joins us.”

While his mind froze, working over exactly what that statement was supposed to mean, terrible images presented themselves; terrible, awful, Mikey-filled images. He shuddered slightly. “Ah … I dunno,” was all he could manage.

She went in for the kill. Leaning in close, she spoke low and into his hood, where his ear would be. The things she whispered to him right then, Raphael would take to the grave. Never had he heard a woman say such things, let alone directed towards him. His defenses utterly crumbled. Twenty-eight years of isolation from the opposite sex, countless years of longing for this and it was over. If every warrior had a weakness, Raphael had just discovered his. “Okay, let’s go,” he said, his voice cracking the slightest bit. He took her by the arm and began leading her out, a little too quickly. 

“What about your brother?” she managed.

He blinked, rational thought given to those images again--terrible, awful, Mikey-filled images. “I’ll come back for him later,” he said.

Maybe it was the chill air hitting him as the two of them exited the club but the voice of reason began to settle in again on the way back to her place. What was he doing? How far could this go, before she discovered who he really was? Should he come clean with her right away, or insist on leaving his "costume" on for the purposes of role play? His mind was a mess. Mikey said to leave the “mask” in place for a while and reveal himself later to her, after they got to know each other. 

Wait. Was he really taking advice from Mikey? 

Okay, this was crazy. He would wait until they were inside and tell her the truth. Then what? Hope she didn’t wake up the whole neighborhood screaming? She might faint at the sight of him, or try calling the cops. She might attack him. Then what? 

Throughout these thoughts he managed to make small talk, mostly letting her do the talking along the way and trying to respond in the correct places. Eventually they came up to a dull-looking brownstone, indistinguishable from those around it. “Here we are,” she purred, leading him up to a small apartment building. Now, he should bail out now, before it was too late. He could make up an excuse, say he wasn’t feeling well. Or he could say he had a girlfriend after all. Something, he had to think of something …

Instead his body kept moving along on autopilot, his eyes planted on her, mesmerized by her motion as she ascended the stairs. Her body was perfection, like a dancer she swayed from side to side with each step. His pulse was racing. Looking at her move was like having tunnel vision; she was the center and it was the world that moved around her. When they reached the top of the landing, she opened a door there and waved him in. 

Immediately Raphael knew something was wrong. This wasn’t a person’s apartment, it was something else. It was bare, not decorated or furnished really, outside of a few functional pieces. A kitchen table sat in the center of the room with what looked like monitoring equipment sprawled out on it, screens and wires, headphones and the like. Even more interestingly, there was a squat, bald man sitting there, fiddling with the stuff.

It was a trap. Raphael whipped around, expecting some sort of attack, the Foot probably--or maybe this was some sort of set-up, he was being robbed, shaken down by some lusty woman to bring back to her “boyfriend” (and really, how could he have been this dumb?). His sais were out and in his hands before he even finished turning towards her. 

“Easy! It’s okay,” she said, her voice suddenly different. “My name is Detective Aliyah Morrison, with NYPD Homicide. You and your brother are in danger.”


	2. Chapter 2

“What!” 

His first thought was: _I’ve been caught._ The cops had laid a trap for them and now they had him, they were going to find out he wasn’t human, or maybe they already knew--this was bad, he had to escape--

“I said, I’m with NYPD Homicide. Relax, you’re not under arrest. But you’re being watched by some very dangerous men. I brought you here for your own safety.” Leaning down suddenly, she grabbed the fabric above her left breast and spoke towards it. “This is Detective Morrison, reporting in from Bayard Street. Shutting down to change my battery, back in five.” She reached around to the back of her outfit, pulling out a small, thin rectangular item on a cord. She wrenched the cord out quickly, telling him, “Okay look. I don’t have a lot of time to explain--”

“You’re wearing a wire too?”

“Not at the moment,” she said, holding the receiver up to show him. “Just listen to me.” She paused a second, taking a deep breath and collecting herself. “I’m working the club undercover. We’re after a man who goes by the name King Jack--aka Jackson Khunou, aka Kgosi Khunou--a South African immigrant who’s been running guns to every gang and family in the city. Maybe you watch the news, you’ve noticed the increase in murders and gang violence in the last six months?” Raph nodded slowly. Of course they had, he and his brothers had been helping to clean up the mess. “Well, you have Jack to thank for that. And tonight, we’re taking him down.”

Raphael looked around wildly, as if he expected more cops to bust in at any second. “I don’t understand, what’s this got to do with me?”

“A little while ago, one of our men--Bobby, here,” she told him, the bald man at the table nodding at his name, “--intercepted a call between Jack’s men and the Foot Clan. Supposedly some members of the Clan followed you and your brother to the club and were requesting that you be handed over. Since you’re on Jack’s turf, they can’t come after you themselves but the Clan is offering a hell of a bounty for you guys, in case you didn’t know.”

Raph shook his head, clearing it, trying to digest the information. “Wait. So-so you guys know about the Foot?”

“Of course we know about them,” she said, but didn’t look happy about it. “No one in the department will touch them. They’re just too big for us to handle.”

“Too big for the cops …” Raph had to admit, it wasn’t the most comfortable thought. However, he pushed it aside for now. With the immediate threat gone, he replaced his weapons to his belt. “What about Mik-I mean, my brother? He’s still back there!”

“Which is why I tried to get you to bring him along,” she said a bit tersely. “But it’s okay. There’s still time. Jack’s men are awaiting a delivery on the East River, once that goes down, they should make the drop here. Jack owns this club, he does business out of the basement,” she explained. “I’m supposed to stay close to him, get him to admit the deal on tape. But I still have enough time to go back and retrieve your brother. Now you just stay here where it’s safe, and--”

“Fuck that!” Raph snapped. “I dunno who you think you are lady, but I ain’t gonna leave him back there! We don’t need your damn protection, we can look after ourselves.”

She put her palms up in protest, hoping to calm him. “Okay, look. I understand your worry, but I can’t let you do that.” She leaned in closer to him, saying the words he’d dreaded since they’d first entered the apartment. “I know who you are,” she said. “You _are_ one of those vigilantes, the ones that dress up as the lizards--or, turtles--whatever.” _The ones that dress up as._ A few things hit him there, one, that the cops knew who they were (which was a little more serious than showing up as a blurb on page ten of the tabloid-esque local rags) and two, they still thought Raphael and his brothers were humans in costume. Before he could barely register that thought, she went on.

“Now don’t worry,” she said, “I meant what I said before. We’re not after you. As a matter of fact, most of us appreciate what you guys do.” He narrowed his eyes, giving her what she thought was a skeptical look, so she explained. “I’m serious. Some of us,” she said with a nod to her friend seated at the table, “really do think of you guys as heroes.”

Raphael softened a little at that, but the mention of heroism brought back her little ploy to get him here in the first place. He paced a step or two with a frustrated grunt, trying to make sense of all of this. “Why didn’t ya just tell me the truth in the first place?” he said, looking at her disapprovingly, motioning towards her "costume." “Why all ... _this?”_

“Why didn’t I tell you I was a cop?” She raised her brow. “And what would you have done then?”

He thought a second. “Grabbed my brother and got outta there, probably.”

“Right. And then Jack’s men would’ve been all over you in a heartbeat. They followed us here, as a matter of fact. A couple of ‘em, they’re in a car across the street as we speak. But it’s okay, you’re safe here. Our men are on them--if they try and make a move, they won’t even get to the door.” 

Raphael shook his head. This was ridiculous, he had to get out of here. “Whatever. Like I said, we don’t need your protection--my brother and I can handle ourselves.” He started for window, hoping to be done with this. 

“Wait!” she shouted. Against his better judgment, Raphael turned. “You’re not getting it,” she said with a frown. “It’s not just Jack’s men I’m protecting you from, it’s the NYPD as well. I said _some_ of us are okay with what you guys do, but not everyone is. If you and your brother leave the club, Jack’s men will try to take you down. Now I know you guys and what you do, and that means a fight. And since our men are watching every one of Jack’s men--”

“--Then the cops’ll get involved. Okay, so I get it. But I’m tellin’ ya: _it don’t matter._ We’re pretty good at evading the police too, ya know.”

“Believe me, I know. But I don’t think you appreciate the danger you’re in right now. We have dozens of cops waiting to get these men, Jack’s men are armed to the teeth … and then there’s the Clan. They’re telling me that there’s a small army of them waiting just outside Jack’s territory. And like I said, we can’t do anything about them.”

Raphael sighed. “Yeah well I already guessed the Foot were close by. S’alright. We’ve brawled with them enough times to know what we’re doin’.” But did he? He and Mike couldn’t really take down “a small army” of Foot, no matter how good they were. Their only option was to try and make it home unseen. With so many eyes on them, it wasn’t going to be easy. He continued, “An’ why did ya bring me here anyways? How the hell are we supposed to be evadin’ the cops when we’re in a goddamn police safe house?”

“Because I’m going to cover for you,” she said with an air of impatience. “I’ll put it in my report that it was a case of mistaken identity, that you guys were just a couple of kids in costume, too young to be our vigilantes. Bobby will back me up.” Again, the short man at the table smiled at her. “Once our operation is finished and we have Jack, Bobby will help you slip out. You might have to remove your costumes, it’ll be better if you try to pass as just a couple of guys. I know you might not like that, but it’s going to make it a lot easier to sneak you guys out of here.”

Remove their costumes. Well, wasn’t this a great plan. Raphael reached up to his shoulder on impulse, looking for the tails of his mask to pull at, forgetting for a second that he wasn’t wearing it tonight. He rubbed at his shoulder nervously instead. “Okay look, I appreciate what you're tryin’ to do here,” he forced himself to say, “but there’s no way in hell I’m stayin’ here when my brother’s in trouble. Speakin’ of which.” He pulled his phone, trying the younger turtle. 

She shook her head. She’d expected some resistance from the guy, but this was ridiculous. “Did you not hear me say that Jack’s men are right out front and the cops are all over this place? You’re not going to get back to the club without being watched. You have no choice!”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I always got a choice.” Turning his attention back to the phone, he added, “’Sides, I don’t think _you_ appreciate how good _I am_ at stayin’ outta sight.”

“Well aren’t you a stubborn one,” she huffed, looking him over.

“Allie, we’re way over five,” the man at the table said.

She sighed. Trying one last time, she said, “Look, if you create a problem in there and we have to intervene, not only will it be bad for you, it could blow my operation. And I am _not_ gonna let you help Jack get away.”

“Oh, so that’s it?” He turned toward her, on fire. “Ya drag me back here, _under false pretenses,”_ he added, with an accusing look, “just so Mikey and I wouldn’t fuck up your little sting operation? If anything happens to my brother over this, I swear t’god I’m gonna make that club look like Hiroshima.” He looked down at his phone, not realizing he’d let Mike’s name slip. It was the least of his worries, since there was no answer from the younger turtle. Just great. He was probably fine. After all, he was dancing, the music was loud …

“Okay.” She put her hands up, conceding some. “I’m sorry I had to lie to you but I’m already putting my ass on the line here, just to warn you at all!”

“Well if you're lookin’ for thanks, ya ain’t gonna get it,” he snapped back.

She put her hands to her hips. “Oh okay, you’re a real tough guy, I can see that,” she said, fed up with this. “No. Just so you know, I don’t care about thanks. What _I_ care about is getting that _murderer_ off the streets and making sure I don’t have to go home with you and your brother’s deaths on my conscience.” She tossed her hands in the air, defeated. “But if you’re gonna leave and fuck everything up, I can’t force you. I just hope _you_ can live with _yourself_ knowing that kids are getting gunned down out there by these weapons. Last week, twelve-year old girl near Grammercy?”

He rolled his eyes, giving in a little. “I heard. Gunned down outside a school.”

“Yeah. Stray bullet, she got caught up in the spray. These guns are too high powered, it’s harder to control the fire--civilians are getting caught up in this gang bullshit every day, and we can’t keep up!” She took a deep breath, calming herself. “If we don’t get Jack tonight and he figures out we’re on to him, we may never get another chance. Please,” she begged, “you can’t get in the way of that!” 

They stared at each other in silence for a few moments until Raph broke away. He looked down at the phone in his hand again and cursed. Still no answer. Maybe he should call home, Leo would know what to do. On the other hand, he’d have to explain to Leo that he left Mikey in danger to go chasing tail. Now there was a conversation he was just dying to have. He snapped the phone shut. “I’m sorry,” he said to her, more sincere this time. “I wanna help you, but my brother comes first.”

She looked away with a sigh, her hands back on her hips. This wasn’t going to end well, she was sure of it.

“Allie …?”

“Alright, okay,” she said to her friend. She reached to the table, grabbing a spare battery and making ready to plug it in. Looking at Raph one last time, she said, “So you think you’re that good, huh?”

“I ain’t stayed alive all these years on luck,” he answered.

She gave him a sideways look. Well, if you couldn’t beat them …

“Alright then, have it your way. Maybe we can help each other.”

**\----------------------------------**

Detective Morrison went over the plan quickly before switching on her wire. She was going to report in that one of the targets (Raphael) was secure, and that she was heading back to the club for the other target--with, as she’d promised, the admission that she didn’t think these were the actual vigilantes in question. Nevertheless, Jack’s men thought that they were, so it was her duty to see the two to safety. The officers outside would escort her on her way back (undercover, of course) but a few would remain to keep an eye on Jack’s men, the ones sitting just outside the safe house. Once she’d drawn away most of her men, Bobby, the cop running the surveillance equipment, would usher Raph out a small exit in the basement. From there, Raph had to be careful to remain unseen but he was far less worried about that than she was.

Once inside they’d both search for Mike. If all went well, Raph would get Mike and the two of them would try to lay low until the cops were done with their operation so as not to interfere. Raph still insisted that he and Mike could probably slip out without an incident, but the detective had planted a fair amount of doubt in him. If he and Mike got caught up fighting these gang members, plus cops (and they couldn’t kill cops, they’d have to go on the defensive there--much harder), only to run right into the hands of the Foot … who knew what would happen. He was trying to imagine what was going on out there at Foot HQ. Once word got to them that he and Mike were holed up in this building, Saki might send every one of his soldiers to the place to wait them out. Not even the sewers would be safe. And how many did the Shredder have at his disposal, somewhere in the hundreds? Thousands? The only way the brothers had stayed alive as long as they had was by either staying hidden, or staying mobile. Now, neither was an option.

Raph considered calling for backup again. It was true that he didn’t want to call Leo for personal reasons, but he was also worried about getting the other two caught up in this. If there was that many Foot out there especially, Leo and Donnie would have trouble getting close to their position. Plus, it might be easier for two to sneak through their defenses than four. After giving it some real thought, Raph once again stowed his phone, opting to handle the situation himself. They were going to be fine. He’d get to club, find Mikey still showing off on the dance floor and chew him out for not answering his phone. From there they’d just try to move with the crowd, maybe wait for the show to let out and get lost in the throng of similar-dressed concert goers.

He took the back alleyways, keeping to the shadows as promised and having no trouble making his way there, a fact that served to boost his confidence a little more. Caught up with the cops, it was enough to shake him up little, but back here on the streets he felt more in his element. Still, what the detective had told him was enough to keep him on his toes. As he neared the club, Raphael caught sight of several patrons outside, most of them smoking and talking too loudly. He watched them all closely, a little more paranoid than when he’d first arrived here. He stopped a moment, looking them over and wondering if they were actually patrons at all. Who were these people, under the costumes and façade? Threat or no? Who was a cop and who was one of Jack’s gang? Who was watching him, waiting for him to make a wrong move?

His attention soon went to a couple that seemed to be looking in his direction. Two ladies, dressed in skimpy outfits and shivering a little at the fact, standing on the corner and looking at him just a little too much, he thought. He locked eyes with one, watching as she immediately turned to her friend, saying something he couldn’t hear. They began to walk in the opposite direction and Raphael was sure it was no coincidence. He moved quickly but didn’t run. When one of the women turned to see him following, she panicked and grabbed her friend’s arm, the two of them immediately picking up the pace.

He closed the distance easily. Grabbing the closest one by her arm, he swung her around roughly. “Who are you? Where’s my brother?” he asked, cutting right to the punch.

She didn’t even attempt to lie. “Some-–some guys,” she blubbered, “told us to talk him into coming with us. He looked like you, all weird under his costume--”

_“Where is he?”_ Raph shouted, shaking her. Her eyes were huge and bloodshot, leading him to guess what these women got in payment for luring Mike outside.

“I’m sorry!” She began to cry, looking to her friend for reassurance. “We didn’t know they would hurt him! I-In the alley, back there,” she bawled, pointing back the way Raphael had come. “I swear we thought it was a joke. I didn’t know they were serious!”

“Get outta here!” He shook her again and let her go. Looking at the both of them, he drove it home. “Now! Don’t come back here again!”

Raphael tore off down the street, not caring about the eyes watching him now. He pulled his phone again in vain, hoping Mike would pick up. Maybe they jumped him, maybe not--maybe Mike got away, or was lying somewhere injured. A hundred thoughts raced through Raphael’s head in that moment, but one surfaced above the others: _just let him be okay._

He should’ve been more careful, he realized too late. If he was smart, he would’ve held back and observed the area for a while, waiting to see if enemies were present. He could almost hear Leo admonishing him in his head, chiding him for running in on pure adrenaline as usual, throwing aside caution as he was often known to do. As soon as he turned the corner, Raphael recognized the signs of a brawl; overturned boxes and garbage strewn about, a truck parked close by showing signs of damage, and something more familiar--a pair of nunchaku lying close to one of the wheels in a pool of blood. Without thinking, he ran to them, instantly regretting the move a second later. 

“Well, look here. This one comes right to us, just as the King said.” Two dark-skinned men with handguns appeared from behind the truck. Dressed in jeans, jackets and sneakers, they didn’t stand out, nor (aside from their weapons) did they seem very intimidating as gangsters. If he hadn’t been more aware, Raph would’ve thought he was just being mugged by some random street punks. The only unique part of their look was the black bandannas they wore around the nose and mouth, hiding their features. 

Raph’s sais were in his hands in the blink of an eye. “Where is he, where’s my brother?” he demanded.

“Careful now,” the one that spoke before said. “We have him. You make trouble, he dies.”

“Or,” Raph twirled his twin sai, “how ‘bout you _fuck off_ and I find him myself.”

The other man, the one who had so far remained quiet, suddenly gave a shrill whistle. Right away Raph caught movement from the corner of his eye. From the opposite end of the alley men began to emerge, similar in look and dress as the two in front of him. They circled around, cutting off the exits (or so they believed; being the ninja that he was, Raphael wasn’t exactly limited to escaping along street-level). A door opened from the back of the club and a few more came out, standing and watching, waiting for Raphael’s move. At a glance? Twenty, maybe thirty total, and every one of them armed. Poor odds, but he’d been up against worse. He shifted his eyes, considering the nearby truck for cover. “That supposed to scare me?” Raph growled, getting into a stance. “Nice try, but I ain’t afraid of guns. An’ by the look of ya, ya ain’t got much else t’back it up.” He sneered, egging the two men in front of him to make a move.

The man who’d spoken to him laughed. “Maybe you are right, maybe we do rely on our guns. But they don’t.” He turned and looked skywards, towards the roof of the club.

Raphael followed his gaze. At least a few dozen Foot were up there, looking down on the scene. Well, there went a skyward escape. So he was surrounded after all. Raph didn’t expect to see the Foot so close. What had the detective said? That they couldn’t interfere outside of their turf? Nothing stopped them from having a presence though, it seemed. Even if Raph could get away from the men on the ground, the Foot would be tracking his every move, just waiting for their chance. His eyes darted to the buildings nearby, picking up a few more figures creeping around the tops of them. And for every one he saw, Raphael knew there were dozens more in the shadows that he couldn’t see.

He was trapped. 

“You will come with us,” the man spoke again. “We will take you to see the King. If you fight us, it will not go well for you.” He nodded to the ground, where Mike’s bloody nunchaku lay.

He glared at the man with fiery hatred. Escape might not be impossible but he couldn’t leave Mike behind. Out of options, Raphael gave in. As they shoved him through the door of the club and down a series of dim stairwells and hallways, he kicked himself for his mistakes; for letting himself get cornered so easily, for not calling the others when he had the chance … for leaving the club with that _woman._ This was bad. How could he have been so stupid? Leo trusted him to keep Mike out of trouble and he couldn’t have screwed this up harder if he’d tried. Still, there wasn’t time now to dwell on it. He counted the steps down, made note of each turn, watching for possible escape routes and hiding places. They passed several men guarding the ways through, all armed, many with high-powered rifles--and strange to see so many in one place, he thought. But the detective had said that this man, "King Jack" they called him, was an arms dealer, so maybe it was his way of showing off.

The place was big as he was coming to find out, the basement floors even more sprawling than the club above them. He could hear the thump of bass in the walls as they descended, getting quieter the further they went. It was suffocating, going deeper into this place, and Raphael tried not to think of it as walking into a tomb. Eventually they approached a large lobby area, nicely furnished with several more men waiting there. Those men exchanged a few words with Raph’s guard in a language he didn’t recognize. From there, they set to disarming him, patting him down and taking everything that they could find. One of the men made a comment about his “armor” but luckily it was brushed off. Since Raph had been wearing his weapons and gear just under the clothes, it was assumed that he was clean. 

When they were done, he was shoved forward again towards a set of doors. There was no doubt in Raph’s mind that this was it; the next room would be the holding area, where these men would keep him until the deal with the Foot was made. Mikey had to be in there. He considered making a move before they took his sais, but ultimately pushed the idea aside. Without knowing for sure, he couldn’t do it. He wanted to think they were being taken alive at the Foot’s request but there was no guarantee of that, and if he attacked them now and they panicked … well, this night had gone bad enough without him making yet another mistake. Besides, there might still be a chance for escape. The man outside had implied that Mike was still alive, so Raph was going with that for the time being. He pictured the younger turtle tied up inside, likely bruised but fine. Mike would probably greet him with a big, dumb smile the second he entered and he’d find out that most of his worries were for nothing. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. For all the trouble his little brother seemed to get himself into, somehow he also managed to escape with his skin each time. Raph just hoped that luck would hold out a little longer.

The double doors opened and Raph was ushered inside. Right away he saw Mike lying on the floor of the room. He wasn’t moving.

_“Mikey!”_

Raphael lunged forward, only to get pistol-whipped for his trouble. He slugged the man responsible before the human had time to react, prompting the others to pile on the turtle, attempting to subdue him. They struggled but Raph was much faster, managing to duck beneath the swing of another, the butt of his AK-47 swooshing around so fast that Raph could feel the wind from it ripple the fabric on his head. He buried his foot in the man’s gut, doubling him over.

“Mikey!” Raph yelled again, louder this time, but he couldn’t get to his brother. “What did you bastards do to him!” he snarled at them, grabbing one by surprise and shoving him into a few others. Several of the men looked taken aback, obviously having underestimated Raphael’s strength. Another attempted to smash his gun across Raph’s face again, but the ninja moved in time, tackling the man to the floor instead. He grabbed another by the legs and pulled him downwards, trying to disarm him in the process. It didn’t work, but the man instead fell on the oversized gun, becoming wrapped up in it and the chaos of his comrades who were already trying to get to their own feet. It was almost comical, through the shouting and madness, the way that they struggled over one another. Raph didn’t have time to focus on it but it seemed his earlier statement was correct--when not relying on their guns, these men couldn’t put up much of a fight. 

Turning away, he tried to address his brother again. “Mike! Mikey, can ya hear me?” There was no response from the younger turtle, who lay on the floor in a heap, his face buried in the carpet and hidden from view. Like a being possessed, Raphael erupted from the tangle of bodies enraged, cursing these men with every word he knew, any sense of his own safety gone for the need to get to Mike’s side. Was he was too late? It was all he could think--he had to get to him, check him, see if he was still breathing-– 

Finally, as he faced off with a few more (for there was no end to Jack’s men, it seemed), a small, circular, metal object pressed itself painfully into his temple. “That is enough. Stop or die,” the gunman said.

Raphael paused, panting. That should’ve been it, but Raph never had been one to take orders. His fist came up in a blur, batting away the barrel of the weapon. His other fist buried itself in the man’s jaw, cracking it so hard that a spatter of blood hit Raph across his own face. He’d taken a chance, but figured that if they hadn’t killed him yet, there had to be some reason. Without hesitation, he dropped to his knees at Mike’s side, turning him over and saying his name again and again. 

Michelangelo didn’t look good. Raph leaned in, listening. The fabric that had been covering Mike’s face, already somewhat askew from his battle in the street, didn’t appear to be moving. He ripped the mask downwards, exposing the extent of the damage. Raph’s breath caught in his throat at the sight. Immediately his vision went red, filled with the blood of the men who’d done this. Raph shook his brother a little, begging one last time. “Mikey? C’mon buddy, wake up. C’mon …” He could hear the men assembling behind him. He grabbed at Mike’s face, lifting his one good eyelid, trying to get any response. Nothing there--he was dead. 

It hit Raph like a sledgehammer to the chest, crushing the wind right out of him. He was too late. Mikey, his little brother ... Mikey was dead. 

He sensed the motion just behind his left shoulder, he had to move--but Raph held on just a second too long, staring into Mike’s lifeless, motionless eye, letting them get too close. He finally turned, too late, getting the brunt of the weapon to the side of his mouth. His vision washed to white for a split second, causing him to fall forward over the top of his brother’s body. He spit blood, cursing and trying to force himself up off of the floor. He wasn’t going to let them do this. This couldn’t happen. Mike was dead … no, he wouldn’t let this happen. As he rose, he could feel it building, the berserker rage he so often tried to control; it was taking over, a madness uncontrollable, steeped in pure, raw fury. Let it come, he thought. Right now he wanted revenge, he wanted the bloodlust to envelop him, to make these bastards pay for what they did. 

With a roar he regained his feet, having to use Mike’s body for leverage and sick at the thought that it was empty, that Mike wasn’t in there. Half-crazed now with thoughts of blood, he swore silent promises to his fallen brother, to avenge him, to see that his murderers were brought to the same fate. Raph swayed a little, dizzy, the repeated blows to the head beginning to take their toll. He barely noticed. Entering a stance, he looked them over, easily two dozen in the room and every one of them pointing guns at him. He raised his fists.

Just as Raph was about to rush them, there was a noise. He paused, listening. It was coming from the floor. He stared at the body there, in total disbelief. Was it real, did he imagine it? Suddenly, Mike shifted a little, moaning again in pain. “R-Raph …?” he said weakly.

Raphael was so stunned he couldn’t respond. Casually, one the men sauntered over, placing the barrel of his rifle inches from Mike’s head. “’Ey you were right, bra',’” he said, looking off towards one of the other men, “this one _is_ alive.” Turning to Raphael, he cocked his head, saying, “Now go on, behave. Or we will change that, eh?” He motioned the gun towards Mike, driving the point home.

There was nothing Raph could do. Panting heavily, he attempted to first get his bearings. The rage washed from him the instant Mike spoke, replaced by a feeling of relief so intense, the sudden rush of it was making him lightheaded. He lowered his fists in a daze, falling back a few steps. “Mikey, just-just hold on, okay? I’ll get us outta this!”

A few of the men chuckled at that. One of them grabbed Raphael and swung him around, forcing him to his knees and pulling his wrists together. He felt something being placed around them, snapping his hands together tight. 

“Good boy,” said the one with his gun to Mike. “Now we wait. The King will be here soon. He will decide, what happens to you.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Well now, here is where the real party begins.”

Raphael looked up, tearing his attention away from his injured brother, who had apparently fallen back into unconsciousness after they’d secured Raph. He felt the rage returning, barely able contain himself at the sight of the one responsible, the one they called King, and born so in his native tongue. King Jack, once known as _Kgosi Khunou,_ born in a small village along the southern tip of Botswana, who had risen from his life of poverty on the backs of other men, who had approached adulthood already a murderer, who came to the United States swearing that he would never go back to the days of being sick and hungry and cast aside while others found fortune. In contrast to his men, Jack was dressed sharply; nice clothes, expensive shoes and jewelry. Raphael was no expert, but the watch on Jack’s wrist had to be worth several thousands of dollars. He was tall and thin, his black, curly hair groomed and trimmed close to the skull, his face shaven clean. He wore diamonds in both ears and gold around his neck. Extravagant, but who would expect less from a man that fancied himself royalty. 

Ignoring the brothers for now, Jack spoke with one of his men for a few minutes, asking details about the supposed deal that had gone down on the waterfront. His man gestured towards a large silver case on the table. Raph hardly noticed what they were saying, for his eyes quickly went to another, to her, the detective that had gotten them into this mess, hanging on Jack’s arm with a small entourage of gorgeous women around, all toying and pawing at him, vying for his attention. She saw Raphael immediately and looked away, trying to mask her surprise. When she next glanced at him, she did so by leaning seductively against Jack’s side, seeming to tell him: _don’t blow my cover._ He stared into her instead, accusing. This was her fault. If he hadn’t been lured away, he would’ve been by Mike’s side, and … and what? Part of him knew it didn’t matter. There had been way too many guys out there in the alley even for the both of them to contend with. But he didn’t care. _Do something,_ he thought at her, _get us out of this._ But what could she do? Call in the cops? Then Raph would be hauled in for questioning, Mike taken to a hospital … if it even got that far. Once they saw that he and Mike weren’t human, who knew how they’d react. Any way you looked at it, there was no easy way out of this. She read his thoughts, the briefest look of guilt crossing her face. She pulled into Jack closer, kissing him lightly on the neck. The sight made Raphael boil with anger. Everything here was a lie. Jack’s smile, the detective’s lust--even him. Here he was, he and Mike both in full view of so many, and yet no one knew their secret. Not yet, anyways.

“Come, bitches. Look at this shit.” Jack walked to the table, where the silver case sat. He went with an easy gait, sure and casual, his eyes scanning the room and taking in every detail. A permanent, sly smirk tugged at one side of his mouth, belying a complacency that Raphael didn’t trust; there was more there, he knew. It too, was a lie. No one knew better than a ninja, that the most dangerous individuals were the ones who hid behind a mask fashioned of their own design. 

Jack opened the case, addressing the women again. “Ahh … now this is some _science fiction_ bullshit.” He raised the gun, a large pistol unlike any Raph had ever seen. It did indeed look like something from a movie; he wasn’t even sure if it shot bullets. Jack continued, “You will never again see a finer piece of weaponry. Well,” he looked at the ladies with a filthy grin, “then again, maybe you will, ah?” That elicited a few nasty chuckles from his men. 

Jack turned the gun over in his hands. “Yes, very beautiful. I can see why they keep this one a secret. It will bring us great wealth, my brothers. Everyone will be knocking on our door for this lovely one.” He took a step towards Mike, looking down over him. “And what good fortune! Not one, but two of these strange _turtle men_ have come to our door. You will bring us a large sum from those …” he waved his hand, looking for the word, _“… ninjas._ Very strange, you men. Why do you dress and act this way?” He crouched, edging in closer to the wounded turtle and addressed Raphael, taunting him. “I would not have believed that you were really them, but your friend here has quite the fighting ability. He killed one of my men, and sent many more to the hospital.” He reached behind, pulling out something white. With a flick of his wrist, a large knife blade slipped out of it.

_“Don’t you fucking touch him!”_ Raphael screamed, belting forward. He was immediately hit in the temple by the butt of one of the men’s machine guns. Hands were all over him, keeping him upright but on his knees. Raph swore at them sluggishly as he struggled to free himself, but it was no use.

Jack grunted a laugh, looking over the turtle with a curious look. “You are close, then? You care, if he lives or dies?”

“He’s my brother!” Raph spit at him. “And if you do anything--anything!--to him, I will kill you! You hear me? I WILL KILL YOU!”

Jack smiled immensely, showing every tooth. “I like these ones,” he said to his men, “they have the fighting spirit. It is too bad, we must sell you. I would have you work for me.” 

“Fuck you,” Raph said through his teeth. 

Jack only smiled at him. Turning, he spoke a few words in his native tongue. Two men went into action, dragging Michelangelo from the floor and sitting him up. Before Raph could explode again, he explained. “The Foot Clan offers more for you alive. However, they will pay a reduced price for your bodies as well. But my brothers and I, we feel that some things, they are more important than money. Like family, for instance.

“My men, they are my family. They bleed for me. And I, for them.” He struck his chest lightly, looking them over one by one. “My bra’. We operate by a strict code. If you take one of my family,” he grinned at Raph, “I take one of yours. After all, it is only fair.” 

Raph was in a panic. “Mikey, wake up! Wake up! MIKEY!” 

Laughing, King Jack moved into position, twisting the fabric of Mike’s hood into one fist and bringing the point of the knife to his neck, ready to plunge it in. Raph strained as hard as he could against the men holding him, but it wasn’t enough--he couldn’t break their hold. This was it. They were going to kill Mikey right in front of him and there was nothing he could do.

“You should have surrendered, when we gave you the chance,” he whispered in Mike’s ear. Raising back up, he tensed.

“Stop right there, muthafucka!” Detective Morrison shoved _the biggest_ handgun Raph had ever seen into Jack’s temple. Immediately, every gun in the room came up, pointed at her. Screams erupted from the other women, who scrambled over each other in their haste to exit the room.

Detective Morrison slipped behind Jack for cover. “NYPD!” she screamed. “Take it easy or I’ll blow his fucking head off!”

Jack looked around the room at his men, nodding slightly, but not looking altogether too worried. He smiled that sly, toothy grin of his. “It is okay. Do as the lady says.”

“Now drop the knife!”

He began to move slowly, bringing the knife away from Mike’s neck. Right away, Raph saw the intent in his eyes.

_“Look out!”_

She backed up just in time. The knife came around fast but only clipped her, catching her wrist. The room erupted in gunfire. The detective threw herself behind the desk in time, getting off two shots, but neither hit their mark. Jack hit the floor immediately, his men rushing forward to shield him. 

“Drop your weapons! You are all under arrest!” she yelled above the din. “This place is surrounded!” Taking a chance, she ducked out only slightly, barely making it back to cover as bullets shredded the wood of the massive desk. She was glad Jack hadn’t skimped on the furnishings, at least. But her cover wouldn’t hold up indefinitely. She tried to buy some time. “We know everything, Jack, there’s no getting out of this! My squad will be all over this place in minutes!”

Jack stood, shouting at his men to hold their fire. As the room quieted, he grabbed a rifle from the hands of one of them, cursing in Afrikaans. “Bitch, you had better explain yourself!” he shouted in her direction. He crossed the room, shoving the weapon into Mike’s face, who was still lying oblivious to the excitement around him. “Get up and drop your gun, or I will kill these two right now!”

When the gunfire started, Raphael had thrown himself to the ground. In the confusion he’d tried to inch his way towards Michelangelo but wasn’t able to get very far. One of Jack’s men came forward now, planting a boot in the center of his back, keeping him pinned. “Mikey--no! Leave him alone!” he shouted, helpless once again.

A second went by, followed by another. Jack was losing patience. _“Fucking pigs,”_ he swore. “Then so be it,” he snarled, steadying the gun.

“Wait!”

She stood slowly from behind the desk, hands high in surrender. He nodded to her gun, which she obediently lowered onto the top of the desk. Jack gave a word to one of his men, who grabbed the detective, wrenching her arms around the back of her. Handing the rifle back, Jack stormed over to her. Calling her bluff, he began to fondle her roughly, searching around her clothes despite her complaints. He pulled out the small microphone. “This _bitch_ is wearing a wire,” he spat. “This is still on?” he asked her. When she didn’t respond, he backhanded her. 

“Is-it-on?” he yelled.

“Yes!”

“Okay.” Looking at the tiny device, he spoke into it. “Listen up, you filthy pigs. I have your woman. Do not make a move on us, or she will die. We will contact you soon.” With that, he ripped the wire out, disabling it and tossing it into the corner of the room. Right away Jack started in with his orders and his men obeyed, springing to action as they were trained to do. Several men went to Raphael right away, hoisting him from the floor and shoving him forwards, back out the door and into the lobby. He could hear the detective shouting behind him as she got the same treatment. Raph protested, but again found himself at a loss; disarmed, surrounded by enemies and with his hands tied behind his back, he was no position to fight them. Still, out of frustration he struggled. One of the men holding him grabbed the side of his head, slamming it into the wall. Dazed, they dragged him the rest of the way.

They weren’t taken far. On the same floor just a few corridors away, they were brought to a door with several heavy locks on the outside. Dragging Raphael and Detective Morrison inside, the men forced them each into a wooden chair and bound them, using thick cable ties to keep them in place. A little groggy still, Raph took in his surroundings as best he could but there wasn’t much to see. Aside from the chairs they were sitting in and a few more of the same against the wall, the room was bare. The walls looked as if they’d once had wallpaper, but only faded strips now remained in a few places. A single, low-watted bulb dangled above without fixture. The cement at their feet had no carpeting and was stained dark and splotchy in places. Raph got the impression that they weren’t the first people to be held captive here.

He yelled at them, swore and threatened, demanded to know where Mike was. When the men were sure he and the detective were secured, they left through the only door, followed by the sound of the locks sliding into place. Raphael screamed another insult or two, then fell silent. He hung his head in defeat, shivering a little against the chill in the room. There were no windows, no vents large enough to put but an arm through, and no exits other than the door they’d come in from. There was no other way out.

“I’m sorry,” she said, once the room was quiet.

He didn’t look up, but shook his head slowly, muttering to himself. “I fucked up … I fucked up so bad. I shoulda called for help …” He began to shake all over. “If Mikey doesn’t make it … shit.”

She didn’t know what to say so she repeated it, in a whisper this time. “I’m so sorry.”

“It ain’t your fault, it’s mine,” he said. He tilted his chin in her direction slightly, but kept his features buried beneath the hood. “You saved his life back there.” He stalled, looking for the right words, but couldn’t settle on any that were good enough. Instead, he just blurted out, “Thanks.”

She sighed, shivering a little herself. “Told you I wasn’t gonna go home with your deaths on my conscience.” She sighed again, her breath coming out shaky. “But it might be a little early to celebrate.” Changing the subject, she asked, “Are you okay? Did they hurt you?”

He shook his head. “M’fine. How ‘bout you? Did ya get cut bad?”

“It hurts, but I’m okay.” Grunting, she added, “Assholes put the ties right on it though. Damn things are digging right into me.”

He leaned back, trying to get a look at her. “It ain’t bleedin’ much,” he offered. He wanted to ask her about their situation, to ask how many cops were out there, or how long it might take them to storm the place, if at all. They were obviously being held until Jack could figure out a way of getting them off of his back. But what that meant, Raph wasn’t sure. Even in the best case scenario, they’d be handed over to the police, which again, meant that their secret would be out. This was too much, he couldn’t believe they’d really gotten in so deep. Still, if revealing themselves was what had to happen, Raphael didn’t care. At this point, he just hoped they’d all make it out with their lives. 

Before he had the chance to ask, she spoke up again. “Listen,” she said, her voice wavering the smallest amount, “I never got your name … I know you probably don’t wanna tell me but if you could just gimme something, a nickname, something--”

“My name’s Raphael,” he said, looking at her finally. When their eyes met, he saw just how terrified she was. And there was his answer. The cops weren’t coming to the rescue. At least, she didn’t think so.

Just then he heard footsteps. Two sets, if Raph wasn’t mistaken. A second later they both tensed as the locks began to loosen, the door swinging wide a second later. Two men entered, carrying the body of Michelangelo.

“Mikey!" 

They dropped the younger turtle onto the floor unceremoniously. As Raph continued to shout his brother’s name, the men left without a word. 

“Mikey! _Mike!_ C’mon, get up!”

Raph struggled against the ties, trying to break them, his chair rocking back and forth with the effort. It was getting him nowhere. Frustrated, he instead shifted over, trying to get a closer look at his brother. Mike was face down, he wasn’t moving … Raph was hit by déjà vu, again unsure if Mike was alive.

Detective Morrison watched the next series of events in a trance, fascinated by what she was seeing. Looking around in a panic at first, Raphael suddenly calmed himself. Sitting up straight and taking a few deep breaths, he dropped his chin down and closed his eyes. He stayed like that for several seconds, breathing deep and acting strange, a stark contrast to his outbursts just moments before. Just when she was starting to think she should say something, he came to. Growling low under his breath, he tensed up, and with one powerful motion his arms came away from each other, the plastic ties bursting apart in a series of loud, abrupt snapping noises.

With his legs still attached to the chair legs, Raph had to tip himself forward onto his knees. He dragged himself closer to Mike’s body. “Mikey?” 

Mike wasn’t responding. Raph tried to re-position his brother, pulling him off of his stomach and rolling him to his side, careful to keep his back to the lady cop. Mike’s hood was still up but his mask was down around his chin, where Raph had left it from before. At a glance it was obvious that Mike wasn’t human; costumes didn’t bleed and bruise like that. Was that why they’d taken their time putting him in here? Raph glanced up towards the door. They knew their secret, he was sure of it. But that hardly mattered now. Slapping his brother lightly, he tried again. “Mikey, c’mon.” He leaned in close, listening for signs of life.

Finally, his little brother stirred. “… mmnph … Raph?”

Raphael let out a breath. Okay, still alive--good. He shook him a little. “Mikey c’mon, ya with me?” One of Mike’s eyes was open, but barely; the other was swollen shut. 

Mike didn’t answer right away. Finally he spoke, the words coming out muffled, a result of the swelling all along that side of his face. “Raph? Think I … lost a fight.”

“No kiddin’.” He started feeling around Mike’s clothes, inspecting them for blood. “Where are you hurt?”

He swallowed. “Ugh. Everywhere ...” 

“Can ya sit up?”

Mike laid there for a second before lifting his head. A moment later, he lowered it back down. A long, unintelligible moan escaped the younger turtle’s lips, telling Raph that Mike was far from being fine.

“Okay, take it easy. Just stay down. And don’t move.” He looked up at her, suddenly overwhelmed by the situation. Captured, Mikey half dead, locked up with a cop. You could almost laugh at how wrong things had gone. But now what he was supposed to do? He looked around, at a loss. No exits, no escape. He cursed under his breath, trying to think. He suddenly wished the others were here. Leo would know what to do, he was sure.

“You shouldn’t let him pass out again,” she said, low. “If he has a head injury, he needs to try and stay conscious.”

Raph nodded quickly, snapping to. With his legs still tied to the chair, he awkwardly (but quietly) scooted behind Mike in an effort to try and help him up. He worked his hands under Mike’s armpits and lifted him with a grunt. Immediately Michelangelo yelled in pain.

Raph laid him back down. “What is it, what’s wrong?”

Curling up in a fetal position, Mike cradled his side. “Hurts … think my ribs are busted ... _urghfuuuck …”_

There wasn’t time to inspect him further. Mike’s outburst had alarmed someone outside. Immediately Raph was on his feet and sliding the chair back to where he’d been, near the detective. He managed to get his arms around behind him just before the door opened.

The guards didn’t stay long, taking just a moment to scan the room. One of the two stared at Mikey for a few seconds, watching his body move and shudder with each pained breath. He mumbled something to his partner, pointing at the injured turtle. Satisfied that it was nothing to be concerned about, they left after that, not staying long enough for Raph to even consider making a move. Listening to their footsteps, Raphael figured that they must be standing just outside the door. He filed that information away for later, just in case.

With the guards gone, Raph once again turned his attention to Michelangelo. Leaning over, he hissed, “Mikey!” Mike was lying there, still holding his side and twitching but he didn’t answer. Raph tried again. “Mikey? Hey!”

Cursing again, he tried to make his way back over to his brother a second time. Halfway there he became frustrated with the lack of mobility and stopped, twisting the chair around. At first he considered breaking the legs, and then thought better of it. Straining, he worked the ties back and forth against the wood until they slipped down the length of it. It took longer but eventually he freed himself, leaving the ties intact around his own legs. That way, he figured he might be able to reposition himself sitting in the chair and still fool them into thinking he was bound to it. 

Finally free, he paused for a few seconds, making sure he hadn’t made enough noise to alert the guards again. With the coast clear, he went to his brother and kneeled there, inspecting him as he had before. Surprisingly, Mike was still conscious. He looked at Raphael drugged, his one good eye wavering in its socket.

“Mikey, I’m gonna get us outta here, I swear. Just hold on, I’ll figure somethin’ out--”

“Raph.” 

Mike reached out with great effort, trying to grab at his brother. Raphael took his arm and stared at him, a sinking feeling beginning to gnaw at his insides. Mike looked bad, sure--but he wasn’t acting right. The slurred and broken speech, the far-away look, the way his color had faded to a sickly pale sheen. This wasn’t good. Mike screwed around a lot but the truth was, when it came to battle he was every bit as resilient as the rest of them. If he couldn’t even get up off of the floor, it had to be pretty serious.

Mike swallowed painfully. He was drenched in sweat and his breaths were coming in short gasps. ”I–I gotta shut down. I’m sorry.”

“Are ya sure?” He looked at his brother half-crazed. Mike didn’t answer. “Yeah, you're sure. Okay. Listen, I’m gonna get ya home, I swear.” He squeezed Mike’s arm. “Just hang in there, bro.” 

Mike was already out before Raph lowered his arm back down. With a deep breath Raphael leaned back, resting his shell against the wall and looking at his brother in disbelief. 

“What’s wrong, is he okay?” 

“It’s a technique,” he answered her, his mouth suddenly dry. He cleared his throat. “It slows the heart and other functions of the body. We only use it if we’re … dyin’.”

“Oh my god,” she said. “Is that true, is he?” 

Raph leaned forward again, laying one hand down on Mike’s head. “He thinks he is. ’Course, if ya knew Mikey, you’d know he loves to exaggerate everything,” Raph explained, but didn’t sound like he believed it. He looked around the room again, totally at a loss. “I gotta get him outta here.”

  
[](http://imgur.com/mJysMJs)  
  
Artwork by deviantArt user [MomoRawrr](http://momorawrr.deviantart.com/) (Warning: gallery features tcest.)  



	4. Chapter 4

They sat in silence for a while, Raph watching Mike closely and making sure he was still hibernating, the detective still tied to her chair and watching them. Raph rubbed at his forehead, trying to ease the tension building there. What the hell were they going to do?

Finally, the silence proved too much for the detective and she attempted to break some of the ice. She asked him softly, “Is he really your brother? You guys are related?”

Not likely, but they’d never known for sure. The chances that four turtles bought at a pet shop were from the same clutch were slim, but it didn’t matter. They were raised as brothers, fought alongside one another as the same. Blood meant nothing in the face of what they’d been through together. “Yeah,” he said, giving her the short answer. “He’s my little brother.” He ran a hand over Mike’s head.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to get you caught up in this. If I’d just stuck to the mission like I was supposed to--”

“Nah, it wouldn’t a mattered,” he said, stopping her. He filled her in on what had happened in the time between the safe house and the club, told her about the men in the alley and his subsequent surrender. “Truth is,” he finished, “even if Mikey was with me, there’s no way we coulda taken on all those guys. Still can’t believe how many were out there.” He sighed. “An’ the Foot don’t mess around. I don’t wanna think about how many a _them_ are out there, even now.”

She frowned, looking down at Mike’s motionless body. “How is he? Is he gonna be okay?” A dumb question, she thought immediately after, but she wasn’t sure what else to say.

Raph nodded. “Yeah, I think so. They did a number on him, but Mikey’s pretty tough. He ain’t bleedin’ out anywhere, so that’s good. Still, I need to get him home so-so he can rest,” he finished, not wanting to give up the fact that Don would be administering his medical talents to the injured turtle.

She looked at him, puzzled. “He needs to go to a hospital, don’t you think?”

Surprised by the question, he tried to skirt the issue. “Ah, yeah. Yeah, w-we’ll probably do that.” He scratched at the back of his head nervously.

“Hey, um,” she whispered, “I don’t mean to pull you away but ... you think you might be able to untie me too?”

“Uh, yeah--sorry. Lemme see.” With one last look to Mike he stood, coming around to the back of her. He grabbed her wrists lightly, inspecting the ties. After a few seconds, he said, “Don’t think I can without cuttin’ ‘em. If I try and pull ‘em off, it’s just gonna hurt ya.” He’d end up snapping her wrists before the ties, he thought. Or open her wound back up. The cut wasn’t too bad, but it had bled a good amount; her hand was drenched in the stuff and there was a small puddle beneath. “I could break the chair maybe, but they’d probably get wise to that.” He rose back up, facing her. Dropping his voice another notch, he added, “Next time they come in, I’m gonna make a move, try and take ‘em by surprise.”

She nodded, trembling. She looked so helpless, sitting there. Maybe it was the fact that she was tied up, or the scanty clothing, or the raw fear he could sense emanating from all around her, but it was hard to think of her as an undercover cop, or even as the woman he’d first met in the club, so confident and sure. He’d seen her wear so many faces tonight, it was hard to know who she really was. But there was no reason for her to fake anything now. Glancing towards Mike briefly, Raphael took a seat next to her. Mike was out cold and there was really nothing Raph could do for him anyways. It was probably best he just let Mike sleep for now.

“Listen,” he said, “I wanna say thanks again for what ya did. Mikey’s fucked up pretty bad but he’s alive, and it’s only ‘cause you stepped in when ya did.” He shook his head. “We get deep into some shit sometimes, but if I had to watch my little brother die in front a me like that ...” he trailed off, looking away for a second. Finally he choked out, “I woulda lost my fuckin’ mind.”

“Why do you guys do it?” she asked him suddenly. “Why like this?”

He understood what she meant. She still thought he was just some guy in a costume fighting crime but it didn’t change the question. “Well,” he said sighing, thinking it over, “truth is, we didn’t have much choice where the Foot’s concerned. Our father had beef with ‘em before we were ever born. Our families’ve had it out for each other for years, it goes back generations, sorta. We been trained since birth, to face off with ‘em.”

She looked at him, shocked. “You’re kidding ... you guys were _forced_ to do this?”

“No.” His look drilled into her, as intense as anything. “It ain’t like that. It was always our choice. We fight together ‘cause we wanna do it. The Foot brought war to our house, and bring it to everyone who crosses ‘em. We coulda walked away maybe, gone into hiding. But that’s not the way we were taught. So we fight for us, for our family ... but also for those who can’t do it for themselves.”

She nodded, her eyes wide in thought. Timidly, she asked, “You never considered joining the Force? Or the FBI, something like that?”

He smirked under the cloth of his mask. “Wasn’t really an option for us,” he answered. She wasn’t sure what that meant exactly but didn’t press him on it. “But it is what it is. I can’t imagine any other way a life now, it’s what I’ve always known.”

She stared at him, considering that. A life spent at war on the streets. There were many that would lock this man up for life for the things he’d done. But he didn’t sound like a killer, a person that enjoyed what he did. There was something about the way he talked, something simple and to-the-point that made her feel as though he was telling the truth. He said it was his choice, in the way that no one forced him to do this, which she believed. But she knew better. It was never really a choice. Once you got involved in this life, there was no looking back.

“It’s better you didn’t,” she told him. “It wasn’t as bad when I joined, but these days,” she said, pausing there with a disgusted look, “we don’t even try to mess in their affairs anymore.” That’s what she’d said before, Raph remembered, when they were at the safe house. He’d thought it was surprising enough that the cops were aware of the Foot’s presence to begin with (reports of rogue ninjas being just as rare as sightings of five-foot tall turtle men, after all) but knowing now that they straight up refused to go after them weighed on him much more. It certainly made their own battle with the Foot all the more daunting.

“What about you?” he asked her. “You do this undercover stuff a lot? Seems pretty dangerous.”

She laughed a little at the obviousness of that statement. “Huh, no kidding. But yeah, I do.” She shrugged. “What can I say, I’m good at it. I always did like playing pretend, ever since I was little. My mom said I’d grow up to be an actress.” She laughed a little again, remembering. “But I never had the nerve for all that. Plus, I really wanted to be a cop. I thought I could ... I dunno, put those talents to use.” She looked down. “Guess I wasn’t talented enough.” 

“Well, ya had me fooled,” he said, regretting it the second it was off his lips. An uncomfortable silence fell between them briefly, before she went on.

“You know, what we do,” she said quietly, “you and me? It’s not really all that different. Some people, they think you guys are ... well, kinda crazy. But I never thought so. Every time I go in on another sting--dress up, put on a face, practice my lines--I almost feel like one of you all, throwing on a costume to go fight the bad guys.” She smiled, looking away a little embarrassed. “’Cept I spend more time filling out paperwork, I bet.”

That reminded him again of how they’d met in the club, along with some of the things she’d said to him. He thought it had all been lies, quite bitter at the fact that he’d allowed her to trick him so easily by playing on his emotions. She didn’t understand how cruel that had been obviously and of course he couldn’t hold it against her; after all, she was only trying to help. But part of what she’d said, particularly about his being a vigilante rang back to him now. She’d embellished at the time, sure--but now he had to wonder. Maybe he was imagining it but he could swear that some of what she’d fed him in the club was closer to the truth after all.

Pushing those thoughts aside, he asked her, “So what’s your story? Why do _you_ do it?” 

She looked a little surprised by the question. “It’s a good job. Better pay, ever since I made detective.”

“No, why do you do this,” he gestured around. “They don’t force ya to go undercover, get this close to these guys, do they?”

“No,” she admitted. “You’re right, that’s my choice.” She stretched, arching her back and working out the kinks a little. “I didn’t grow up in the best neighborhood. There was a lotta crime, worse then, than it is now. But,” she said slowly, choosing her words, “it was tough for other reasons too. I didn’t fit in so well, the other kids always gave me a real hard time.”

“Is it ‘cause you're mixed?”

She gave him a shrewd smile. “Yeah, it is. I’m surprised you knew. I’m so dark most people can’t tell.” She would’ve said most _white_ people couldn’t tell, but didn’t want to be rude. It was true that she couldn’t see his skin color beneath the costume but of course it was his voice that tipped her off. Only a _paisano_ boy talked with so pronounced an accent. 

“It’s your freckles that gave ya away.” He’d noticed the moment they’d met, even in the dim light of the club; a small, light patch just over the bridge of her nose. They were pretty, he thought. 

“Right. I used to hate them because of that.” She looked off, remembering. “My pop’s white,” she explained, “but I got more of my mom’s features. You think maybe _one_ group would accept you, but it doesn’t work like that. It’s funny, you know? Everybody knows it’s wrong to judge a person on their looks, but they all do it anyways.”

Raph looked down at his injured brother, speaking the words that weren’t his own. “Not everybody’s like that,” he said to her.

She smiled. “Not the good ones.”

“Yeah, well ... I’m kinda of a mutt myself.” he said, regretting it a second later. He really needed to be careful about giving this woman too much information. Understanding cop or no, he still barely knew her. It seemed like a good place to excuse himself to check on Mike, which he needed to do anyways. He stood and made his way over to the unconscious turtle. At least the conversation seemed to be calming her somewhat, and that made him feel good. He didn’t want her to be scared, after all. Besides, there wasn’t much they could do right now but wait. But as he felt around looking for Mike’s pulse, he realized something--he was a little glad the detective was here. He tried to imagine how crazy he’d be going if it were just him and Mike locked up in here. 

“That’s why,” she said.

“What’s that?” He looked up, startled from his thoughts.

She took a deep breath. “You asked me why I do all this, that’s why. Because when I was growing up, I felt ... alone. Because of my looks, I got picked on, teased--beat up. When I got older I just wanted to do something that was kind of like, looking out for the little guy, you know? Like you said, I wanted to protect people that couldn’t protect themselves. And I got a knack for this, so ... that’s what I do.” She continued, “I known a lotta good cops. And some bad ones. And some that just treat it like a job. Everyone’s got their own reasons, I guess.” She dropped her eyes to her lap. “I thought I was doing the right thing, fighting the good fight. But eleven years I been at this, and it only gets harder. I didn’t know that when I started. I thought I’d get used to it. Shit,” she said, rolling her eyes, “I don’t even know what that means. I don’t know how you get used to seein’ people hurt and killed and brutalized by one another. Some days I wake up ... and I don’t even know if I’m good enough to keep doing this.”

“Looked to me like ya carried yerself pretty well back there,” he cocked his head towards the door. “When ya pulled your gun, I gotta admit-- _I_ was scared.” He let out an easy laugh, remembering it in a much better light now. “I think just about everyone a those guys in there dropped a brick when you did that.”

She thought back. “Mmmyeah ... for the record, I don’t normally talk like that,” she said with a coy smile, thinking back to the moment and hearing her voice in her head _(“Stop right there, muthafucka!”)_ as if it belonged to someone else. “Remember what I said about playing pretend? Think I got a little too into character back there. I blame the costume.”

“I thought it was cool.” He shrugged. “I was gonna say, ya kinda reminded me of _Coffy,_ but I didn’t wanna offend.”

She smiled wider this time, showing her teeth. “Very funny. But again, I’ll forgive you only because of the costume. Lucky for you, I happen to be a big Pam Grier fan. Couldn’t get enough of her movies when I was in the Academy. Now that’s my mom’s influence right there. Hell, I used Mom’s yearbook as inspiration for this crazy getup tonight. Can’t believe people used to really dress like this.”

Raph turned his attention back to Mike for a few minutes, checking his pulse. Still there but it was weak; and slowed considerably, though that was through his own devices. Probably for the best, Raph thought. At least Mike wouldn’t have to lie here suffering all this time. “Hey, you got a watch?” he asked the detective. She shook her head no. “What time do ya think it is?” 

“No idea,” she said. “It was close to ten when I came downstairs with Jack. Maybe eleven, eleven-thirty now?”

Still early. Raph sighed. “Was just thinkin’, my uh ... well the other guys, would come lookin’ for us eventually. But we’re not due back for a few more hours. Is there um, any way this might show up on the news?” 

Again, she shook her head. “Not a chance.” Nodding towards Mike, she asked, “How’s he doing?”

Raph laid a heavy hand down on Mike’s shoulder, squeezing it a little. “Still hangin’ in there. He’ll be okay,” he added, but wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince. The waiting was starting to take its toll. And his pulse was awfully weak. How much longer could he last in here?

“Hey, are you okay?”

He rubbed his forehead. “Yeah. Was just thinkin’.” He clammed up on instinct, and then thought better of it. Screw it, he thought. She was on their side. At this point, what did he have to lose? “The other guys--they’re also my brothers. I got one older, two younger. Mikey’s the youngest of us.” He ran a hand over Mike’s arm. “Boy is he ever. Twenty-eight years old an’ he still acts like he’s twelve.” Raph chuckled, despite himself. “I was just thinkin’ about the other guys. Our father, he’s the one that trained us to fight. He taught us how to take care of ourselves out there. And here it’s not two years he’s in the ground and already I got us into trouble. Ya know, I’m worried about Mikey and I’m not exactly sure if we’re gonna make it outta here ... but what’s worse is knowin’ that the other guys are home right now with no idea. An’ if we don’t make it back ...” Again Raph paused, looking for the right words. “It was bad, when Sensei died. I can’t do that to ‘em again, y’know?”

She frowned, biting at her lip. He was putting up a pretty good front but she could hear the heartbreak in his voice. “You guys are close, huh?”

He looked over Mike’s motionless body, wondering if this was really it for them. “You have no idea.”

His attention snapped to the door just then, picking up on the noise a second before she did. Footsteps, followed by people talking--and it was getting closer. Instantly and without a sound Raphael was off of the floor and back into position next to the detective, once again taking his place in the beat up, wooden chair. She stared at him in disbelief. She’d never in her life seen anyone move like that. Detective Morrison thought she was beginning to get an idea of how these guys were able to do what they did, going up against the Foot and every gang in the city.

The two of them sat silent, listening. They couldn’t hear what was being said but the conversation didn't last long. The locks began to turn and the door opened again. In stepped several of Jack’s men with rifles pointed upwards and at them. Raphael tensed, but the men didn’t fire. Instead they kept the guns pointed at them, one for each of them (except Mike, who was seemingly no threat) and at much too close a range for Raph to make a move. Perfect, he thought. Before he could figure out what to do, his attention went to another man, not armed as the others, but who seemed to be taking an interest in Mike all of the sudden.

“Hey!” Raph shouted. “You leave him alone!” 

Ignoring him, the man kneeled by Mike’s side, moving him a little. Holding up a small device, Raph saw that it was just a phone. What was going on here? A second later part of his question went answered, as the man snapped a few photos. He then stood, coming over to Raphael and repeating the action. “Smile,” the man teased him, laughing.

When the cameraman was finished, he returned the phone to his pocket but remained there in front of Raphael with his attention not on the ninja, but the lady beside him. One of the armed men said something to him, telling him that they were done, but the cameraman lingered, insisting they wait a moment. He reached down then and grabbed the detective by the jaw, turning her head and looking her over. She tried not to look back at him. A large, nasty grin crept over his face. “Very nice,” he said. He slipped his hand downwards, trailing his knuckles along the center of her bare chest where her outfit cut in a low V. 

“Get your fucking hands off a her,” Raph said, glaring at him. 

“It’s okay,” she said to Raph, repeating it, “it’s okay.” _Don’t do anything stupid,_ she seemed to say. For all the gunmen knew, Raphael was still tied up. There might yet be an opportunity to use that to his advantage, if he could just wait for the right moment. For now, however, the guards standing over them weren’t allowing them much breathing room. 

The cameraman only grinned wider, encouraged. He eased his hand into the cloth, cupping her bare breast and caressed it almost lovingly, teasing the nipple with his thumb. The detective drew in a breath and held it, forcing herself to hold steady. She was not going to give him the satisfaction. Choking back her fear, she squeezed her eyes shut, praying that this wouldn’t continue to go further. It’s just your body, she told herself, it doesn’t matter. Making it out of this alive was the real priority. His hand came away then and started downwards, caressing her body along the seam of her outfit. Against her will, she let out a small whimper. She tried to hold it back, for her own sake, but also for Raphael’s. If she reacted too strongly, she was afraid he might go ahead and make a move regardless. She could hardly live with the guilt of getting him and his brother into this mess as it was, she certainly wasn’t about to let it get any worse.

She needn’t have worried. Right at that moment her prayers went answered, salvation coming in the form of airborne furniture. To the surprise of everyone in the room (except Raphael, who’d seen Mike shifting position from the corner of his eye) one of the empty chairs came sailing through the air towards them. It hit its mark, smashing into the lecherous cameraman and taking him to the floor. The room fell into chaos. The detective immediately yelled in fright, Jack’s men began shouting at each other and Raph waited, looking for his opening. Unfortunately, the guards standing over him and the detective held their positions, Raph’s guard only digging his rifle further into the ninja’s neck as he shouted towards the open door. More men rushed into the room at the noise, their guns at the ready.

At first Raph had hoped that perhaps Mike wasn’t as bad as he’d thought, that maybe the younger turtle was beginning to snap out of it. But as soon as he’d flung the chair, Mike slumped back to the ground like a ragdoll, the extent of his capability apparently used up with the action. All in all, it was a good distraction, but it didn’t serve to do much other than anger the man he’d hit. In a rage, the cameraman stormed across the room towards Mike and immediately kicked him. The turtle let out a loud yell, but stayed planted to the floor, unable to defend himself. Again the man kicked him and reared up for a third, and that was it--Raphael was done. He couldn’t sit still any longer.

Just as Raph tensed, preparing to grab at the gun still pressed to him, something happened. One of the armed men grabbed the cameraman suddenly, stopping him. “Enough Tony--you will kill him!”

“Fuck him!” Tony, the cameraman, screamed at him. He gave Mike another kick to the abdomen. This time, Mike made no sound.

“Enough!” The other man insisted, grabbing the cameraman and forcibly stopping him. “We do not kill these two! We may still need them alive.” A brief shouting match between the two followed, portions of it peppered with foreign words that Raph couldn’t understand.

Finally, the two settled down. The cameraman spat on the floor. “This is a waste of time,” he grumbled, but backed off nonetheless. “The ninjas will not help us. We should leave now, while these pigs are distracted.” He strode over to the detective, leering at her. “We don’t even need this one. I should kill this bitch right now.” 

Raphael could hear the detective’s breathing hitch beside him. The other man took a step forward, telling him, “Not until the King says so.” He stared his comrade down, letting the words sink in.

Giving in, the cameraman turned and stormed out. One by one the other guards followed. Again, Raph got ready to make a move, but the men were smart--the last one exited the room backing out, keeping his rifle up until the door closed again. Frustrated, Raphael swore under his breath. Another missed opportunity. He should’ve attacked them as soon as they were distracted. But with a gun pressed to the detective’s head as well, Raph hadn’t been sure if he could take out his guard and hers before they could hurt her. If it was just him, he thought tiredly, he would’ve been mopping the floor with these guys. But with two helpless hostages in the mix, things were a lot more complicated. He didn’t have the skill to strategize on the fly, and for the umpteenth time that night, Raphael found himself wishing that his older brother were there to help them.


	5. Chapter 5

Once the door was closed again, Raphael and the detective could hear arguing just outside. Raph figured he should probably wait until things settled down, but the one good thing about the multiple locks on the door was that it gave him a few seconds to get back in his chair if he had to. Without hesitation, he went to his brother, feeling around and looking for his pulse. Mike was passed out again, but still alive as far as Raph could tell. Carefully, he tried to reposition Mike a little, get him back into what he hoped was a more comfortable place. Freaking Mikey. He couldn’t believe his little brother had just done what he did. It was going to be a good story to tell the others, if they made it back to tell them, that was.

“If I don’t get the chance to myself,” she said, “you tell your brother I said thank you.”

He gave her a nod. “I will.” She didn’t look good, so he added, “You alright?” 

She didn’t look up. “When I told you … when I said that stuff about why I became a cop,” she said, sounding far away, “it wasn’t completely the truth. I used to feel that way, but now… I don’t know if I wanna do it anymore. I’ve been thinking about retiring, doing something else.” 

He didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry, about that guy--” he started.

“It’s not about him,” she said. “Not about this, or the danger, or ‘cause I’m scared. It’s that I just don’t see the point anymore. It’s all such a waste. We’re never gonna get Jack now. We don’t get half the guys we go after. There’s so many more unsolved cases than solved ... it hardly feels like we’re doing anything at all.

“It’s a joke. Putting on our costumes to go after these guys, wasting the lives of good cops and others…” She glanced at Mikey. “For what? We’re all fools underneath it all. Running after these dirtbags, trying to get one when there’s so many more out there. It’s a war that never ends. We lock one up, ten more take his place. What’s the point.” Tears began to stream down her face, silent and angry, but she made no sound. 

Raphael stood, taking the seat next to her. “If we didn’t,” he said, “it would be worse.” She didn’t say anything to that but the tears continued to fall, so Raph tried another approach. “My brother,” Raph said, correcting himself, “ah, not this one--one a the other ones--he told me about this thing called the _butterfly effect._ Said if a butterfly flaps its wings on one side a the world, the wind from it travels on until it becomes a hurricane on the other side. I dunno if I believe all that,” he said with a grunt, “but it’s more the idea. Little things ya do--hell, even big things--they got consequences, they ripple out, in ways you might not ever see.

“I was out one night, just me and a friend. We dropped in on some guys, some Dragons, hasslin’ this lady. Guy had a gun pointed right at her, and I startled him ...” He stopped for a few seconds, letting the memory take hold. Finally, he said, “It was stupid. I shoulda taken him out quiet, shouldn’t a given him the chance, ya know? I was pretty messed up afterwards about it. Thought about throwin’ in the towel, retirin’ like ya said.

“Anyways, that’s when Do–that’s when _Donnie,_ my brother,” he said solemnly, giving her the name, “told me about the butterfly thing. I mean, the other guys, and Sensei … they all tried to tell me stuff. Like how he might a killed her anyways, that I did the best I could, all that. But nothin’ rang true until Donnie put it in perspective. 

“See, I got one thing from it, if nothin’ else--I never made that mistake again.” He stopped a moment, his look intense. “I had opportunities where I know I woulda rushed in without thinkin’, and I held back. It was that experience that taught me to do that. At the time, Donnie said that her dyin’ might make a difference later, that it would leave something in me, change me. And he was right. It’s not much … but it meant somethin’ to me.” 

The room went silent for a few seconds. Finally, she said, “Your brother sounds like a pretty smart guy.” 

“Heh.” He grinned under the mask. “You can say that again.” He added, “Some people ya know … they think things happen for a reason. Like there’s some cosmic force out there, pullin’ the strings. But I never thought that. I think _you_ make things happen, by doin’ ‘em. I seen bad stuff happen out there too, lots of it,” he said, narrowing his eyes, “but I ain’t gonna let that scare me away from doin’ what’s right.” 

She raised her head finally and looked at him. She wished he wasn’t wearing the mask. She desperately wanted to see his face all of the sudden, his real face, though she knew it couldn’t happen. A fresh tear fell down one of her cheeks. “You’re right,” she said, her voice barely audible.

Changing gears, he said, “’An’ while we’re on the subject, I been thinkin’. Maybe it’s best I don’t jump these guys just yet. You heard that one, they’re keepin’ us alive for a reason. I’m thinkin’ maybe once they cut a deal with _your_ guys, they might just hand us all over.”

She shook her head pitifully. “Jack’s not negotiating with the cops,” she said.

“Whattaya mean?”

“He doesn’t need us,” she sighed. “He’s working out a deal with the Clan, going over our heads. If you guys are as important to them as everybody keeps saying you are, he’s probably not gonna have too much trouble. They’re keeping the two of you alive right now for that purpose, I’m sure of it. The only reason I’m here is because the deal isn’t done yet.”

He didn’t know what to say. Was he understanding correctly? “But–but then what’ll happen? They’ll have to let you go--” But he could see right away that she didn’t think so. “C’mon, they ain’t gonna kill a cop?”

Again, she looked at him as though he were being naive. “Sweetheart, they kill cops all the time. Once the Clan gets involved, it doesn’t matter who you are.”

“I thought ya said this place was surrounded! So what the hell are the cops doin’?”

“The only thing they can do--nothing.” She sighed bitterly. “They won’t raid the place while I’m in here and Jack knows it. They’re probably all still waiting outside. If Jack gets his way, the word will come down and they’ll just have to back off and go home.”

Raphael shook his head in disbelief. “They’d just leave ya here? Your own guys?”

Her eyes welled again, spilling over onto her cheeks. “They don’t have a choice. Remember what I said? We can’t go after the Clan. They know us, know everyone connected to us--from the highest officials to the lowest beat cops--they’ll kill our families … _our children._ There’s nothing they won’t do to get what they want.” She took a couple of deep breaths before going on. When she spoke next, her tone was strange; scared, desperate, but mixed with something else he couldn’t place. “Listen, I wanna get something off my chest. What I said before, about you guys being heroes? It was true. I know it can’t be easy, and I can only imagine what you all have been through over the years.” She looked over at the lifeless form of Mike. “We were ordered to keep the case on you guys open, to bring you down no matter how long it took, but to keep it quiet too. That’s why you guys are still ‘rumor’ and not ‘fact’. The Clan doesn’t want more attention on you, in case it comes back on them. But you don’t have anything to worry about from us. Nobody’s going to pursue you, not in my department anyways. We don’t talk about it, but everyone knows that you guys do what we can’t--and I don’t know any cop that would sell you out for that. We’ve all seen too much of what the Foot does.

“But we have orders. And the orders come from high up, all the way up. But it’ll be a cold day before I take an order from _him.”_ She spat the word, mimicking Raph’s own disgust for their greatest enemy. “A few years ago, I started taking a personal interest in what you guys do, for that very reason. I guess I just got sick of looking the other way. I followed your cases, kept tabs on where you showed up, who you were involved with. Whenever a call comes in and I recognize your M.O., I always make sure I’m on the scene.” She stared through him, sounding almost apologetic. “Smaller bits of evidence can get overlooked, reports can go unfiled. I have friends in the labs, they do me favors sometimes. It’s not much, but I tried to do whatever I could. I feel like we owe it to you guys.”

Raphael couldn’t speak. Was he hearing her right? Had she been covering for them? All this time, and he never knew. Maybe there were others. She’d said no cop would dare turn them in but how far did it go? They’d always felt alone in this battle against the Foot, yet perhaps it wasn’t entirely so. He looked her over just then, like he was seeing her for the first time. In the club she’d come on to him, playing a game as an obsessed fan … but he was struck by that feeling again, that there had been a grain of truth in it after all. Hadn’t he sensed something when she'd spoke of her admiration for the vigilantes who protected the city? And now it made sense why. She’d been helping them all along behind the scenes. Raphael blinked a few times, trying to digest the information. It was dangerous, what she was doing. If she got caught tampering with evidence she might lose her job; but tampering with evidence to protect them specifically? That would put her right on the radar of the Foot, no question.

“Why are ya tellin’ me all this?” he said.

She couldn’t look at him. “They’re gonna hand you two over to the Clan. It might not mean anything, but it buys you time. Maybe you’ll get out of this.” She didn’t say the words but he heard them anyways: maybe you’ll get out of this-- _but I won’t._ “I just want you to know,” she said, faltering, the tears coming hard and fast, “I just want you to know that I appreciate your sacrifice. Even though most folks out there will never know, you guys are heroes.” She squeezed her eyes tight. “You’re the real heroes.” She let it come, her chest rising and falling with each sob. 

Tied up as she was, he did the best he could. Raphael brought his hands up and took her lightly by the arms. She didn’t say anything, but leaned her head towards him, burying it in his chest and crying quietly. He brought an arm around the back of her neck and pressed her into him, their desperation and uncertainty mingling in that moment. He didn’t know how he knew to do this. Just as he’d been at the club, his body moved without him telling it to, responding to her in ways he didn’t understand. He closed his eyes, focusing on the scent of her, the feel of her. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to remove his gloves, to have her skin against his bare hands. It didn’t matter, it still felt so good, he couldn’t _believe_ how good. Again, like at the club, when he’d had his arms around her, it sent tremors through him, making him feel nervous and excited simply at touching her. He’d never known this. Imagined it too many times--and much more than he would ever admit--but he never could have imagined it was this good. 

A few seconds later he pulled back from her, almost ashamed at his thoughts, knowing that she wouldn’t understand. He felt like a thief, moving to comfort her when in fact he’d taken so much from the experience. What a stupid life, he thought. To be born with a desire for companionship but never able to have it. To take scraps like this, whenever he could. 

“I ain’t gonna let them hurt you,” he told her. “I promise.”

She tilted her chin slightly without a word. Her eyes, huge and wet, searched him. Raphael didn’t know what was coming over him, he couldn’t think. He leaned towards her and began to reach up, intent on bringing down his facemask. At the moment his hand touched the fabric, he heard a noise behind him.

Startled, he turned. Mike stirred, making another unintelligible noise. Raphael looked back at her, the moment broken. He opened his mouth to speak but thankfully she saved him the trouble. “It’s okay,” she breathed, smiling at him. “Go check on him.”

Raph blinked a few times, nodding to her. “Ah, I’ll-be right back,” he stuttered, rising from his place next to her. He crossed the room to where Mike lay, leaning down to inspect his brother. “Mikey? You okay, buddy?” 

_“… mmnnn … hurts …”_ Mike managed, clawing at his side.

Raph laid a hand down on Mike’s head. “I know it does. Just hang in there …”

“No … something …” Mike dug a hand into his clothes underneath him, reaching at the area around his waist. With a pained grunt he pulled his hand free. Something came away from him, scattering loudly against the cement floor.

Raph just stared at it, dumbfounded. “What is it?” the detective whispered.

He grabbed the device, holding it up to show her. How they missed finding Mike’s phone he didn’t know, but he wasn’t about waste time thinking about it. Nor was he going to curse his luck that Mike had been laying on the damn thing all this time. Moving to a corner furthest from the door, he hunched down and dialed Leo’s cell immediately.

Detective Morrison tried not to eavesdrop, and Raph’s tone was so low that she couldn’t pick up much, but she got a few snippets here and there. He quickly explained their situation to whomever was on the other end, a person that sounded neither happy nor calm at the news, as Raph became increasingly more agitated throughout the conversation. Eventually though, it seemed like he got the point across to the other person. What’s more, it sounded like they were mobilizing for a rescue mission.

As for Raphael, this was one of those conversations he’d never hoped to have. When it was done, he closed the phone and looked at it for a few seconds. Leo had been pissed at first, which he expected. But as Raph went on, giving him all of the details, answering Leo’s barrage of questions as best he could (how many guards? How long had the Foot known they were there? How bad was Mike, did he need to be carried out? Was there any possible escape routes, any way of getting in that he knew?), the situation sounded more and more hopeless even to his own ears. The Foot knew that two of them were holed up in here, so of course they’d be on the lookout for the other two. Earlier, when the trouble had started and Raph was still on the streets, even then he’d thought chances were slim that Leo and Donnie would be able to get to them. Now it would be next to impossible.

And Leo knew it. Raph could hear it in his older brother’s voice. There were some things they couldn’t hide from each other and fear was one of them. Leo tried not to show it, had put on his leader face and went through the motions--told Raph to hang on, swore that they’d come for them no matter what--which Raph knew was the truth. Ask any one of them and they’d give you the same answer. He and Donatello would give their own lives without a second thought before letting their brothers fall to the enemy.

Still staring at the phone, Raphael wondered one last time if he’d done the right thing by calling them. It didn’t seem like they had much of a choice but he might’ve just condemned the other two to the same fate. Shoving the phone in his pocket, he was gripped by that realization again that he really wasn’t cut out for this. He’d always been disappointed that their father chose Leonardo over him to take his place as sensei. Raphael always thought of himself as an equal to his older brother, but it simply wasn’t the truth. If it had been Leo here in his place tonight, Raph was sure things wouldn’t have gone this bad in the first place.

“Everything okay?”

Broken from these thoughts, Raph stood and nodded to her. He went to Mikey first, checking on him. His little brother had passed out yet again but he seemed alright (or still alive, rather). Satisfied, Raph went back to his place next to the detective to fill her in. He gave it to her straight but tried to sound hopeful, for her sake at least. She was scared enough as it was.

**\----------------------------------**

The minutes ticked away and Raphael tried not to think about the others out there, possibly getting their asses kicked by an unrelenting army of Foot soldiers. Leo and Donnie did have the advantage after all. Unlike him and Mike, they knew what to expect and that meant everything to a ninja. They could try and stealth their way along unseen, and with the information Raph had given Leo (though it wasn’t much) they at least had some idea of what they were up against. Besides, Leo could figure out what to do. And Donnie--well, Raph knew Donnie would bring every explosive thing he’d cooked up over the last few months. Knowing the techno-geek, the two of them would be coming in armed to the teeth.

He mentioned some of this to the detective, trying to lift her spirits, but it was hard not to let the gravity of the situation come through. They were running out of time, he was sure. As for Mikey, even through his scattered conscious states, Raph knew he wasn’t going to make it much longer without medical attention.

“To hear you talk,” she said, “you sound like you’re used to this kind of thing.”

He grunted a small laugh. “Well, I ain’t never been in a situation quite like this,” he admitted. “But it comes with the territory, I guess. We’ve had our share of bad stuff, gettin’ hurt, especially--almost died, all of us, at one point or another. We been captured before by the Foot and got out of it. Mikey pitched off a roof once, fell three stories.” He nodded towards the unconscious turtle. “I got a scar here,” he told her, reaching under his arm, “where there’s a bullet still inside a me. We been poisoned, beat up, fucked up, _blown up_ \--and still managed to come out of it. So I ain’t ready to throw in the towel yet. ‘Cause that’s us, that’s our luck. We get the shit end of just about everything, but we always make it out somehow.”

She was looking at him funny. All of the sudden she began to cry anew, a noise coming from her throat that at first sounded like a sob, but he soon realized was laughter. She was laughing. Crying, but laughing.

“What, what's the matter now?”

“That’s ...” she said with hitching breath, “that’s the worst pep talk I’ve ever heard.” She burst into a new round of laughter, trying desperately to keep her voice down.

He laughed. “Yeah, I suppose it is.” He reached up then, wiping her tears away with his glove. He let his hand linger just a second more, cupping the side of her face. She nuzzled into it.

“Thanks,” she told him.

The familiar sound of locks turning broke them once again from the moment. As Raph turned, positioning himself right again, a small part of him imagined the door opening to his brothers standing there, having come to the rescue. Unfortunately, it was not so. Several of Jack’s men, armed as they had been, filed into the room. But it wasn’t the grunts that had Raph’s attention.

In stepped King Jack, head honcho and lord of this little underworld. He smiled when he saw the two of them, offering, “Well, here we are. I hope we did not keep you waiting too long.” He turned his head, regarding the body on the floor. Taking a few steps, he bent over Michelangelo. Jack sucked air in through his teeth. “Ooh. This one looks not so good. Maybe we do him a favor, put him out of his misery after all.”

“Over my dead body!” Raph growled, but held his position for now. Christ, how many more times was he going to have to go through this tonight? He was just glad Mike wasn’t awake to experience all the times he’d almost been killed.

Jack grinned at him. “Ah yes, maybe.” He shrugged. “It seems the _ninjas_ do not care, dead or alive. I will deliver you or your bodies, and they will see that the _politie_ do not interfere with us. These ones are willing to pay much for the two of you,” he said, nodding to Raph and Mike with the same, wide grin. “You are very important to them.”

Jack took a few steps towards Detective Morrison, looking her up and down. “You however, little colored girl …” He moved in closer, lording over her. “You, I no longer need.”

“Stay away from her!”

Ignoring Raph, Jack pulled out his knife, the long, ivory-handled one he’d first held up to Mike’s neck. He stood a moment, drinking her in with the knife low at his side. He told her, matter-of-factly, “You will be a reminder to them. I will leave your body in the dumpsters near the station where you work. That way they will know, they do not _fuck_ with King Jack anymore.”

Overwhelmed by what she was sure were her final moments, tears began to stream down the detective’s face from eyes huge and dilated. She made no sound. Slowly, he brought the knife closer to her, drawing out the moment with obvious satisfaction.

He never saw an opportunity, he didn’t have a plan. Raph’s plan was the same one he always fell back on when he was up against the wall: throw himself at his enemies full force and damn the consequences. Of course, that strategy rarely worked out well, but (and much to Leo’s dismay) Raph never seemed to learn his lesson. Not that he had much choice now. With no more time to wait, he sprang upwards with inhuman speed, first using the chair he’d been sitting on (a la Mike’s idea) to take out the guard closest to him. Unable to react, the man took the full brunt of it, collapsing to the floor with a yell. The other men began to back up, trying for a shot, but Raphael was fast, scooping up the chair again and flinging it into them, surprising the lot of them. It gave him just enough time to close the distance, using his body to slam into another and send him off of his feet. Raph tried to stay in close to them, get between them so that they wouldn’t have a clear shot, but it was difficult. Dropping to the ground he swung his legs around, flooring another and trying to get his weapon. If he could get his hands on one of those rifles, it might turn the tables just enough. 

Already outnumbered, Raphael could hear Jack shouting towards the hallway, calling for more. He tried to keep moving, not wanting to give them a chance, but it was losing battle from the start. Just when things were looking their most bleak, he got a lucky break; Raph slammed a fist into one man’s face, stunning him just enough so that the man fumbled, dropping his weapon. Not missing a beat, Raphael scooped it up and swung the rifle around.

They’d always hated guns. Only under times of dire necessity would Raphael ever have considered arming himself with one. Guns made killing impersonal, took the human element away. Their master had lectured them often on the merits of understanding exactly what they did. Taking life should never be so easy, he reasoned, no matter the justification for it. Using a gun was cheating, it was a tool of the weak. He’d never hid from them any truths, especially when it came to death. Forget what they’d seen on television, in books--death was brutal and final. In battle it could happen at the blink of an eye, no matter who was on the receiving end. Cold and unceremonious, there was no arena, no crowd cheering the hero. No women come to fall across the champion’s body and wail at their loss. No long speeches or final words given, no time allowed for inner monologue or soliloquy. Death was not romantic, nor did it care if the one on the receiving end deserved it. Just a flash, a bang, and it was done.

A gun went off, and Raphael’s body fell forward in a slump. 

_“Raphael!”_

Jack turned to the detective with a sickening, delighted-looking smile. “So you make friends with him, eh? It is okay, beauty,” he said, reaching out and caressing her cheek, “you will be with him soon.” He grabbed her shoulder and drove the knife deep between her ribs. She gasped, holding her breath as he held her, smiling as he kept the blade steady and in place. 

She thought it was him, or maybe his ghost. As her vision spotted out and faded, Detective Aliyah Morrison, Allie to her friends, saw a dark shape just behind Jack’s shoulder. Some part of her mind knew it couldn’t be real, but she spoke to the figure regardless. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, repeating it. “Raphael … I’m sorry.”


	6. Chapter 6

_“I’m sorry.”_

The dark figure. She’d seen it in her dream, rising again behind Jack as his knife penetrated her. The same nightmare every night since she’d first awoken, the same event played over and over, her mind unable to make real sense of it. 

Opening her eyes, Detective Morrison blinked away the images, the hospital room coming into view once again. The room with the beeps and whirring sounds of various types of equipment, the stomach-turning clinical smell of antiseptics and antibacterial cleaners. All the same, all as it had been. She sighed and shifted, trying to ease the stiffness from lying in the same position for so long.

That’s when she saw him, the dark figure. He was here, and he was real. “Oh!” she gasped. 

“S’okay, it’s just me,” he said, materializing from the darkest corner of the room. “Sorry, didn’t mean t’scare ya.” Shifting his eyes to the door, he stepped forward without a sound. The door to her room was closed and there was no movement from outside, but he kept his voice low just in case. He was dressed in the same way as he was on that night, head to toe in black, only now he wore a swatch of red around the area where his eyes were. In addition, one arm was bent and in a homemade sling, fashioned out of black cloth to match the rest of him.

She placed a hand on her chest, composing herself. Following his lead, she spoke to him in a hushed tone. “That’s okay,” she said with a soft laugh. “Guess I just wasn’t expecting guests.” 

He grunted. “Yeah, ‘bout that. You should know your guard outside ain’t that great at his job.” 

“I was wondering how you got in here.” She laughed again, sounding relieved. “But I’m gonna guess you would’ve made it in no matter how tight security was.” She smiled at him. She looked tired, but he was happy to see her in good spirits. “I’m so glad you came. You know I was worried about you.” 

He looked her over. “I was worried about you too.” She reached her hand up, taking his and squeezing it. This time, he didn’t pull away from her. 

She frowned, asking cautiously, “Your brother … is he okay?”

“Eh, he’s gonna be on liquids for a while,” he said, reaching up and scratching at the back of his head, “but he’ll live. Believe it or not I seen worse.” He nodded at the mess of IV and monitoring cords sticking out of her arm. “How ‘bout you? How you doin’?”

She laid one hand over her side, where the bandages were. “Sore,” she admitted, “but I guess I’m gonna live too. Guess it takes more than a knife to the heart to do me in.” She smiled. “Feel damn near invincible now, to tell you the truth. But I’m exaggerating. Truth is, it barely punctured the thing, just grazed it. Tore through my lung pretty good, though. Overall, I got lucky.” She blinked slowly, looking at him and adding, “But it wasn’t all luck, was it? They told me it was a guy in costume that carried me out.” Giving his hand another squeeze, she said, “Thank you.”

He let out a tense sigh, looking at her bandages. “Sorry I didn’t keep my promise.”

She had to think a moment what that meant but it came back to her. In that room, after they’d embraced he’d promised to protect her, said that he wouldn’t let them hurt her. She shook her head. “I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you. Raphael, thank you so much,” she looked into him so deeply, he had to break away, embarrassed by the attention. Shifting the conversation to a lighter note, she said, “What I gotta know is how you did it. Craziest thing, I must’ve blacked out right away ... I don’t remember anything after Jack stabbed me.” She looked at him in wonder, asking him the question that had been on her mind for a week now. “What happened back there? How’d you do it?”

He cocked his head, sounding like he was still surprised by the answer himself. “Cavalry arrived.”

“Your brothers?”

He nodded, smiling. “Well, they’re better at this sort of thing. I might be the muscle, but those two are the brains of our little outfit,” he said, laughing a little. “After we took those guys out, they grabbed Mikey and I grabbed you. Had to dump ya off on the first officer I saw, but I guess it turned out alright.” He added, “Wasn’t easy gettin’ outta there though. Your guys are real persistent, ya know that?”

“Sorry about that,” she said. “They are good at what they do.” She’d already known that the two of them had escaped somehow in the mess, having gotten the full report upon waking two days ago. When asked, she denied that either one of them were the real thing; in her official statement, Jack had nothing more than a couple of scared young kids in costume. It was good enough for her fellow detectives. Even if they had suspected that she wasn’t telling the truth (and weren’t those “scared kids” awfully good at fleeing the scene unscathed?), nobody in the department would’ve pressed her on it. They’d also told her that the bodies of Jack and every one of his men had been found inside, “slaughtered” being the word the Captain used. Again, she maintained that the other hostages weren’t armed and couldn’t have been responsible.

Raph went on with his story. “Well, it wasn’t too bad at first. The place was crazy, what with everyone bein’ evacuated from the club and all. Helicopters were a pain in the ass, though. The real bitch was gettin’ away from the Foot, and the damn searchlights were pointin’ ‘em right to us at first.” He looked off a moment, remembering. “Felt like the whole city was on our heels. But Leo--my older brother--he had it under control. He had some friends of ours waiting at a rendezvous point, we loaded Mikey up into their van. First the three of us drew the Foot off a them, then we separated, trying to split the Foot up and away from each other. It was a good plan, but it took hours to lose ‘em.” He shook his head. “I don’t think I ever ran so fast in my life.”

“I’m so sorry for all this,” she said.

“Don’t be. Like I told ya back there, we were sittin’ ducks the second we went into that place. And honestly, that’s our fault. But if you hadn’t intervened when ya did … well, there’s no way Mikey’d be alive right now.” He looked down. “It should be me apologizin’ to you, really. If ya hadn’t got mixed up with us, you wouldn’t be in here at all.” 

“Well, let’s agree to call it even, then.” She looked down, smiling to herself. “A fine mess, wasn’t it? Thought I was gonna have to hand in my badge over this one, but can you believe I got a commendation instead? Those people running the department are a bunch of clowns. Take a bullet--get stabbed, whatever--and they’ll hand you a goddamn medal for it every time. Hardly matters what you do or how much you screw up to get there.” 

He shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “Uh, about that. Sorry but I gotta ask--are the cops gonna come after us on this? Can ya tell me if we’re on the radar?”

She shook her head, straightening a little in the bed and wincing at the pain. “Technically, you vigilante types are always on the radar. But not any more than usual. They didn’t connect you to this. What’s on the books is that a fight broke out between Jack and his men in the heat of the moment. They killed each other, a few of the perps made it out, and that’s it. You and your brother are mentioned in the reports as hostages but there’s nothing in there on who you really are. Officially, you’re down as people of interest, but with no information on you, it’s a dead end.” 

He breathed deep, looking satisfied by that. A noise in the hallway caused him to look up suddenly. “I should get goin’,” he said, but didn’t move to right away. He stalled, seeming like he wanted to say something else. “Uh … rest up. Get better, okay?” He went to the door and leaned against the wall, taking a look to the hallway outside.

“Hey. Raphael.”

He looked back at her. Even lying in a hospital bed, disheveled, un-showered and unmade, she was every bit as gorgeous as she’d been that night, dressed to the nines in that ridiculous, retro costume. This was her, sans glittery makeup and flashy clothes, hair not covered by a silly wig, but natural, flattened and bobbed short. Strangely enough, she looked prettier like this. Because this was her, raw and real. Alive. For a week he’d hounded Donatello to pull up every news feed, to find any information on her condition. He’d even called the hospital, but they’d been wary to give out anything. He hadn’t slept a wink in all that time. 

With a sideways smile, she said, “So you never told me. I mean I get why you wanna hide your identities, but I have to know--why _turtles?”_ She scrunched up her face. “It’s such a weird choice of costume.”

Walk away, give her some bullshit answer, any excuse. He knew that’s what he should do. Instead, he reached up, removed his hood and pulled down the fabric covering the lower half of his face. “It’s not a costume,” he said softly.

Her mouth opened, but nothing came from it. For the first few seconds, it didn’t make sense. She heard what he said, she could plainly see the details in his features as his mouth and face moved, but it didn’t matter; her mind refused to accept this. 

And then it came. This was real, it wasn’t a joke. 

Maybe she should’ve been afraid, or disgusted, or felt something more … normal. But it was his look, that sad, knowing look, watching her as the realization set in. He knew. The way he’d held her so tightly in that room, it wasn’t fear driving his passion, or rather, not fear of death. It hit her all at once. Images flew by, the way she’d teased him in the club, how bitter he’d seemed after he’d found out it was a ruse. Of course. Of course he would be. Because he knew, he’d always known what he was. 

Snapping to and realizing what she’d said, she attempted to apologize. “I, ah--I said weird--I didn’t mean weird. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I--”

“Forget it,” he said, flipping his hood back up. “Ya saved my little brother’s life. I can’t ever thank ya enough for that.” Peering out the crack in the door, he determined that the coast was clear. Before he slipped out, he looked back at her one last time. “Take care of yourself, Allie. Maybe I’ll see ya around.” 

“Yeah, maybe,” she whispered. She watched him go, too shocked for any real coherent thought. “Maybe you will.”


	7. Chapter 7

****

Epilogue

“So, you ready for this?”

He pulled one sai, twirling it between his fingers. “As I’ll ever be.”

“And your brothers?”

“In position. Donnie’s inside, runnin’ surveillance, Mikey and I’ll be stayin’ down low, casin’ the north end. And Leo’s up there,” he said, pointing to the adjacent rooftop. “Ya can’t see him, but he’s our eye in the sky.”

“Well then, I guess it’s show time.” Detective Morrison snapped a fresh magazine into her pistol with a sharp _click_ and replaced the weapon into her holster. “Alright baby, you be careful down there. I’ll see you back here, after we’re all through.” She gave him a little wink, walking out after that.

Michelangelo stood looking at his brother, an enormous grin plastered on his face.

“What?” Raph asked, not really wanting the answer.

“Nothing, _baby._ You ready to go help your girlfriend?”

“She ain’t my girlfriend, and you’re on the way to a punch in the mouth.” 

Mike busted up laughing. “Oh, okay. So you won’t mind if I put the moves on her then? Since she’s not your girlfriend or anything. Man, she is hot as hell Raph, especially in her cop gear! I’d let her handcuff me any day of the-- _OW!”_

“I warned ya, Mikey.”

Raph didn’t really care about the teasing. He didn’t care if Mikey had been right from the get-go. Hell, he didn’t even know if this would go anywhere. Maybe (likely) he and Detective Morrison--Allie--would never be more than just friends. It didn’t matter. There was something there, a spark between them, and that was something he never thought possible before. 

As he and Mike moved into position, ready to keep the Foot from interfering with the NYPD’s shakedown of a certain local drug ring, Raphael reflected on the events that had led them here. After he’d gone to see Allie in the hospital, he thought it would be the last time he ever saw her. But he couldn’t help himself. Remembering what she’d said about focusing on their cases, he started to linger (out of sight of course) at some of the scenes of their “crimes,” watching as the police cleaned up. He saw her several times over that period, but more importantly, he noticed something else--that she too lingered, long after her fellow officers had gone home, looking as if she were waiting for something. Or someone. When he was sure, he dropped down one night and confronted her.

Now, with his brothers at his side, they were working off and on with the police. Overall, it had been a beneficial alliance for everyone; Leo was happy that their activities were for the most part overlooked by the local authorities, and with the brothers keeping the Foot at bay, it meant the cops could get more of the bad guys off of the streets. And Raph? Well, Raph’s outlook on certain aspects of their lives had changed somewhat dramatically. He never could’ve imagined things would turn out so well, given what they’d gone through to get here.

As for tonight, as it was every time they met up to assist the cops now, Raphael was in high spirits. Even Mike’s relentless teasing couldn’t spoil his mood. With his little brother still going on about it, he strategically, but not at all angrily, slugged Mike in the side. As Mike wailed in pain a second time, Raphael smiled to himself. He’d spent too long crafting this brooding, badass image of his, instilling fear into his enemies, even causing his friends and family to take pause when attempting to cross him. He couldn’t very well let Mike go on thinking he was _happy._

Had to keep up appearances, after all.

  


**\-----------------END-----------------**

  



End file.
